Shepard's Glissando
by Tori Crash
Summary: At the climax of galactic armageddon, Commander Jane Shepard did as she promised, and saved everyone from utter annihilation. But the death she so barely cheated, the fall the universe was held back from, and the shadows cast by the victors' lives, remain to bate from them what they fought so hard to hold on to.
1. Fighting the Fall

**Story Summary:** At the climax of galactic armageddon, Commander Jane Shepard did as she promised, and saved everyone from utter annihilation. But the death she so barely cheated, the fall the universe was held back from, and the shadows cast by the victors' lives, remain to bate from them what they fought so hard to hold on to.

**Trigger warnings:** There will be scenes were Shepard and Samara will act abusive toward one another, and Shepard will relive parts of her fairly horrible childhood. Combat scenes will also be more realistic and graphic then in game, with a moderate gore and ick factor. Also, most of the characters suffer from PTSD and panic attacks, and there will be a lot of swearing from Shepard and Jack, with graphic, but mostly empty, verbal threats of torture thrown around.

**Explicit warning:** I plan to have some erotica in the story, but I'm also planning on making asari physiology, slightly different, so it might be a little weird. As usual, I'll be writing an alternative, R rated version for anyone who wants to skip the erotica, and to comply with 's policies.

**Character name notes:** All non-cannon names given to in-game characters are based on bastardizations of the voice actor's or the model's names for that character.

**Style notes:** I've written this story with a shifting, quasi-omniscient narrator, whom is reflectively voicing the interpreted thoughts of the characters. Most of the time however, whichever character the narrator is focusing on, it's interpreting only their thoughts in that instant, and doesn't know, nor remembers, the thoughts of other characters.

Despite this, and while greatly affected by whomever's mindset it's focusing on, the narrator is a separate character whom, is at least partially aware of all past and future events, is relating the narrative to someone in specific, and while it can't lie, nor can it interpret dialogue, it does obfuscate the story in a way that may not truly reflect the events. The narrator can also indirectly effect the characters, but cannot cause things to happen, or change character's minds.

Lastly, the narrator and listener are both integral to Mass Effect's cannon plot line, and while I'm not sure if Bioware intended them to seem so important to their story, they're quite a few out there who would vehemently defend them as critical to the plot. If you guess who they are, I probably wont confirm it as it would take away from the story, but it'd still be pretty coo' if you did.

In regards to Samara's, and other asari's speech. I understand they can be somewhat difficult to read at times, but I feel that the strictness of inflections, as well as their word choices, give a lot of insight into their culture, and into Samara's character specifically.

Finally, though everything within the story is assumed to be translated for the other characters, and you the reader, I wanted to regain and preserve some of the flavor lost in most fiction when a speaker is native to a different language, or when they use differing dialects and accents. In other words, they ain't usin' Star Trek's universal translator.

**Cannon deviation notes:** Combat and powers are, based more on the books/comics and cut scenes rather than gameplay, aren't as strictly assigned, depicted somewhat more realistically (I'm assuming positively and negatively charged mass fields react like matter and antimatter), armour and weapons are more like ME1 (but with equipment from all three), and while medi-gel is still the red potion, I'm assuming it's some kind of highly advanced stem-cell thing, and can't instantaneously regrow organs or blood supplies.

Other divergences are that, Liara is an Ardat-Yakshi but with better meld control then Morinth, the Reapers lied to Shepard and the 'Destroy' option only targets them (EDI loses any Reaper tech in her systems but survives), I assume that Shepard was indoctrinated at some point but isn't any longer (I'm intentionally erasing Shepard's memory of the guardian, so it may or may not have happened), and I've added everything about the Phoenixes to give Shepard and Samara more common ground. Phoenixes are based on a few actual all female divisions from a few militaries, even the sudo-religious stuff.

**Final grovel from the author:** I want to thank you so much for taking the time to read my story, and apologize in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors (if you point them out, I will correct them). I'd also love any suggestions you may have, I'm trying very hard to evolve my writing abilities, and that's kinda hard in a vacuum, so if you have them, please share them. PM me on FF net, Live Journal, or... Facebook, if you don't want to say something publicly. I'm shy too, and am more comfortable saying things privately.

I'd also like to say, that without you, the reader, I, the writer, simply would not exist. You are the most integral part of this whole process, and I thank you once again for enabling me to share my imagination with you.

**Summary:** There is no escaping unscathed on this final judgement day, the damage has already been brought, and Samara expects to die as she has always lived. In a forever eve of loosing everything she once held as dear.

Shepard's Glissando  
Chapter 1: Fighting the Fall

Justicar Samara Ranear stared threw the large ragged wound in the side of the building, and up into the hideous black clouds scarring the skies above Planet Earth. The oily blankets of death were the congealed gatherings of swirling plumes of thick black ash, the smoke from burning remains, and the chemical vapour from unimaginable decay. Their looming mass cast a bleak shadow of twilight upon the little Globe's face, but the utter darkness was broken by the light of a thousand glowing streaks of weapon's fire.

All around her, the world was in chaos, its life being burnt, its face being scarred, and the beings on its surface, those still alive, were left to fight back a relentless onslaught, but they fought not to simply stay alive, they fought for the right to exist as a species. They fought the Reapers, a race of malevolent machines who had descended upon the galaxy, and while their own worlds were also in ruins, it was here, on the former blue planet, where the war would be turned, or remain on its course until all intelligent life was extinguished.

There was however, a singular hope for survival. A single being of extraordinary capabilities, a human who was made her species' first Counsel Spectre, a woman who brought the galactic civilizations together, a Phoenix warrior who purged the galaxy of the parasitic Collectors, an Alliance N7 operative who destroyed five Reapers, and The Commander who continually inspired hope for the future. That singular being, was Commander Jane Shepard.

As Samara looked out upon the destruction, she contemplated how the galactic hero had sent her own inner world crumbling, and how since meeting the infuriating, but undeniably alluring Woman, nothing she had held as true, had survived Shepard's tenacity. Her fierce spirit was not confined to enemies one could meet in heated battle, but to anything she deemed to be unfair or unjust, and had fought Samara on her every preconceived notion of propriety and morality. She had torn threw the Justicar's arguments as effortlessly as she tore threw Reapers, but as the universe had been apt to do lately, it interrupted her efforts at trying to understand her own mind.

"Justicar Samara, ma'am," a male Alliance officer, and source of the intrusion, drew her attention to him.

She carefully masked her annoyance behind an impassive, casual glare, before answering, "simply Samara, or Justicar, will be sufficient."

She waited for him to tell her what he wanted, and when he did not, she prompted him.

"What is it Private."

"You have a comm from Commander Shepard ma'am."

Samara took a moment to examined the squad for her section of the Hammer Run, and the beings Shepard had given her to command. Soon, she and her new allies would be fighting and dieing together, and most likely, the comm was to tell her to ready them. The Woman, would also no doubt wish to say goodbye, for the final time, and only when the Justicar had put both thoughts in their proper place, did she nod to the communications Officer.

"You may establish the connection," she ordered; then moved to the Quantum Entanglement Communicator in the corner.

As she approached it, it burst to life with shimmering blue static, but the distortion quickly dissolved into the life sized form of a smirking Shepard. The Woman however, said nothing, and her lopsided grin grew as the silence continued.

Samara for her part, stood at relaxed attention as the Spectre stared, and for several long moments, she attempted to remain detached in the face of such absurdity. Eventually, the monotony seemed broken, when the Commander crossed her arms under her chest and cocked her hip to rest her weight on one side, but to the Justicar's irritation, the Spectre remained quiet.

"Shepard," she greeted a moment later, succumbing to her frustrations, and hoping to end the Woman's immature game. She allowed none of her inpatients to show in her voice or face, but despite her perceived impassiveness, the Commander's smirk grew wide enough to tug at its opposite end.

"Seven seconds," Shepard announced in a mild, humour filled sing-song, "a new record."

The Justicar lifted an unadorned brow, but ignored the comment, "my fire teams are prepared for deployment."

"Mmm," she hummed with amusement, "I'm glad you made it Samara."

"It is an honour to be here my friend."

Shepard bounced on her hip slightly, "will Falere be all right in the monastery, or what's left of it anyway?"

"We spoke for some time," Samara began, resolutely ignoring the Woman's gently shimmying breasts, "it will not be easy, but if there is a way to survive, Falere will find it, and it was," she paused a moment to suppress her pleasure, "good, to see her again." Then lowered her head at the weight of her guilt, "Perhaps it is unseemly for a Justicar to dwell so much on her family."

"Samara," the Commander grumbled, "just be glad you still have one."

"It was fortunate that Falere saw things so clearly. It would have turned out quite differently without your intervention as well," she closed her eyes and bowed her head, "Thank you."

Shepard sighed, "did you read T'Soni's information package?"

"I did."

"And?"

Samara breathed out some of her discomfort, but did not allow the sigh she so desired, "it matters very little Shepard."

"God damn it Samara," the Spectre barked, "sometimes you asari piss me off more than the hanar."

"I apologize on behalf of my species," the Justicar replied, allowing the genuine shame she felt to show threw her mask, "for a great many things."

"And what things would those be Samara," Shepard's voice shaded with anger, "Tevos's constant refusal to accept evidence of the Reapers and her manipulation of the other Council members. Or maybe the Matriarchy's coverup of a Prothean beacon," the Woman flung her hands into the air, "until that is, they themselves were attacked."

"Shepard," Samara tried to interrupt, mindful of the other occupants in the room.

"Or maybe," the Commander continued, "you'd all like to apologize for the fact that you knew, knew!" she ground threw clenched teeth and twisted face, "that the asari were genetically engineered to be the galaxy's comely pacifiers and that everything, everything!" she shouted, "about your people was utter bull shit."

"You have failed to mention our continued extermination of the Ardat-Yakshi, to which I have also been complacent."

"I'm a bitch Samara, not a cunt."

The Justicar did sigh then, if only barely, but continued to show no emotion, "this is an old debate between us my friend."

"Hey," Shepard pointed a finger at Samara, her mouth set in a grim, shallow frown, "Don't think I haven't noticed that you've suddenly started calling me, friend," she folded her arms back under her chest, "does that mean you wont be killing me if we survive saving the galaxy?"

"I do not believe we have the time for this argument."

The Woman cocked her head and smirked once again, "actually we do. The geth are still lining up for Shield, Wrex is assembling his Hammer Run's defences, and EDI's getting ready to hack everything from here to hell and back." She returned to bouncing on her hip, "So you and I, get to talk like its six months ago. That is, until we're both once again called away, to die."

"There is nothing to discuss Shepard," Samara stated evenly, "Doctor T'Soni's evidence is quite irrefutable, and I am forced to accept the truth of it." She held her head a little higher, welcoming her own pain at the revelation. "All that I have ever believed to be true, was built on falsities, and I have spent my life protecting a set of institutions, that have been at direct odds with what I felt to be righteous."

"Shit Samara," the Woman breathed and turned away, "I never meant to obliterate everything you believed in."

"Then what has been your intention?"

Shepard paused for a long moment, "okay, I did fully intend to obliterate your beliefs. But," she held up a hand, "I would've rather have done it slower and without hurting you."

In the secret depths of her heart, Samara wished for her situation to be different, wished she could simply turn her mind from her conditioning, wished that their deaths were not so certain, wished to the goddess to be given the same singular chance as the rest of the galaxy. But it was not.

"What we desire has very little influence on reality," her voice shifted from her usual detachment, to resigned finality.

"Wow," the Commander replied in a sarcastic huff, "the higher, the fewer, hmm?" Then she shook her head with a deep grin etched in her mouth, "boy, do I ever have a surprise for you then."

"No matter how much we desire a thing, it will never become a reality."

"Christ Samara!" Shepard erupted, "You're such a god damn fatalist. What the hell are we doing here if it's not to change reality with our desires."

"If we are destined to be victorious," she answered calmly and with greater finality, "then we will be."

"The Reapers seem pretty sure that it's *they*, who're the ones destined to be victorious."

"If they are, then they will be."

"Samara, if know one knows what the future will bring, then predestination ain't nothing but a word," the Woman mocked as if addressing a dimwitted child.

The Justicar could think of no response to this, so remained silent, and waited for the next wave of her friends well meaninged attack.

Shepard held her eyes a moment longer, but then shook her head, "I'm going to go be a cliche again. You know, live up to my name, set the Reapers on fire, or whatever the hell the Crucible will do, walk out of the ashes, then tell you my surprise, and show you how desires can very much change reality."

"Doctor T'Soni has already informed me," Samara preempted.

The Commander's head flew back, her posture straightening, "no she didn't."

"She has, in her information packet," she added. "But you need not worry, I have no desire to kill the Maiden."

"Wait," Shepard's eyebrows furrowed, "what're you talking about."

"Liara T'Soni is an Ardat-Yakshi," Samara almost said it as a question, her certainty of what her friend was hiding evaporating.

"Hmm," the Spectre gave one of her rare full smiles, "interesting that she actually told you. But no, different surprise. One you might actually go homicidal over."

"I have no desire to kill you my friend. In your case, the Code could never have been correct."

"Finally!" Shepard burst out with thrown arms.

To Samara's ear, she actually sounded relieved, but then, the spectre quickly turned away as someone out of the range of the QEC interrupted her.

"What," the Woman paused a moment, "and the advanced teams?"

Knowing that their time had come, the Justicar looked about her group again, and examined their readiness.

"Keep Normandy nearby," the Commander continued to whom ever Samara could not see, "Anderson?" she nodded, "send some geth to Samara." She lifted her arm out of the QECs range, "hah! Fuck you Garrus, you're buying. And can you even get drunk in the afterlife, 'cause if not, I'm out." Another pause, "T'Soni and Zorah, get your asses in gear, you two are coming with me," then turned back to the Justicar, "alright," her eyes flared with mania, "time to die."

"I believe you take your battalion's mythology too literally," Samara replied to the Woman's antics; then immediately wished she had kept the mild outburst to herself.

"Renovatio per ignes baby," Shepard shot back with a salacious smirk, but sobered before continuing, "Stay safe Samara, I'll be back before you know it."

"We'll both be tested in fire soon enough," she replied. Then stood at stiffer attention, "I know you do not care for such things, but goddess go with you Shepard."

"Yeah sure," the Spectre's voice dripped with mocked sincerity, "just what I need, another prothean following me around. Anyway, I should go, I'll see you in about a half hour."

With that, the QEC immediately went dead, leaving Samara to once again, look over the beings whom would be defending one of their allies' key access points.

First, she spied her fellow Justicar Amari, clad in blue trimmed Alrdin armour and tasked with using a biotic sphere to hold their forward line. Next to her, a young maiden wearing a similar, but less expensive model, and who would stay in reserve until needed. A few feet from them, a male Alliance soldier, he would be their sniper element. Beside him, another male human, but armoured in Blue Sun's colours and hefting a fuel generator on his back. In a corner, a group of asari commandos, adorned in varyingly coloured leathers and possessing equally varied biotic gifts. Near the counter of food, several more humans, likewise with varying biotic and weapon talents. Finally, a group of turians and krogans, each trying to stand as far apart from one another as possible, while at the same time, standing as near as they could without appearing to do so.

This eclectic collection of beings was Samara's to lead, and she knew with certainty, her sister asari would follow her instructions. The other species however, she only hoped would defend one another, and not do something ill advised. They of course had their primary orders, positions and roles to fill during the Hammer Run, but the specifics were up to the Justicar. She alone bore the responsibility of their fate.

She would have much preferred to be the one taking orders, to be told were best to lend her strength, and while it was true that she was an accomplished military operative, her nearly every victory had been won at the direction of others, not as the one leading her group. Shepard on the other hand, had other opinions of her talents and had given her the task of protecting Hammer Run's flank, of protecting the Commander herself as she attempted the ultimate victory. It was a duty she had accepted with honour, and with the full intention of being successful, despite her lack of qualifications.

"This is Adam Hammer," Admiral Anderson's voice came over her comm, braking Samara's musings, "ready yourselves for the run."

With her deployment ordered, she sprinted for the doorway, while pressing a finger near her auditory membrane, "Lucen on route." Then, without looking back, she shouted at her team, "to your positions."

Samara continued her run for the several hundred meters it took to get to her assigned area, and did not once check to see if her team was following her. She assumed, as Shepard does when leading her into battle, that they would do as she said and if they did not, it was best to discover their insubordination now, and before all their lives hung in the balance. Eventually, she reached a male in heavy combat gear who saluted her.

"Commander Wallis, N7," he greeted, "Our losses have been minimal but they've been attacking in odd patterns." He shook his head, "we can't get a bead on it, don't get comfy if there's a lull."

Several of her team sprinted passed, as she shouted back, "Samara, Justicar Code warrior. Thank you, you are relieved."

The N7 operative balked at her terse reply, but then quickly shook it off. "Can I ask you something Samara?"

"If you must," she allowed, the bulk of her team running by.

"Who'd you piss off to get this assignment. I mean, this is one of the secondary routes for the Reapers to get to Hammer. Once they start run'n, this place's gonna be like a relay before Christmas."

"I was asked by Commander Shepard to defend this position."

"Shit, forget what I said." He looked back to her now fully assembled team, all in position and already fighting a group of husks, "but you're gonna be hit hard honey. I'll send runners with clips and rations but, you're on your own for the next hour. My team's got nothing left."

"I Understand Commander," Samara nodded; then tried to dismiss him again, "I have the position."

"Right," he was a little confused, but took off in the direction the relief team had come, shouting into his comm on the way, "Lima withdrawing, Lucen deployed."

The Justicar looked to her forward group in time to see that a husk, had broken threw their line and was charging at her. She quickly turned towards it while taking a half-step back, and braced herself to engage the glowing abomination of synthetic replaced human flesh. She then flung a biotic Throw at the hideous creature, impacting it dead centre and sending its hopefully crushed body flying for meters. When it struck the ground, it crumpled over itself, tumbling and rolling with its limbs folding in unnatural positions. She thought it very likely dead and hoped, that the being it once was, was at peace.

Around her, her teams were similarly engaged. At the forward position, her fellow Justicar had constructed her biotic sphere between two ruined buildings, blocking a previously easily accessible route. Beside her, and standing on the wreckage of a mako, the Blue Sun's merc sprayed his flame thrower at the ground forces trying to breach the barrier. A few meters behind herself and slightly to her right, the Alliance soldier knelt atop a small rise, firing his sniper rifle at anything he had line of sight to.

Then a sound to her right drew Samara's attention to a collection of brutes rounding the building. The gurgling, belching, and roaring sounds bellowing from the once krogan, sent uncomfortable chills up the back of her neck, as the massive horned and armoured beasts rushed into the defensive position. She threw a Reave field at them, before unloading a thermal's worth of shots from her Typhoon, a much cherished gift from Shepard. In seconds, the projectiles tore her targets to wormwood, and sent them in tattered pieces to the ground.

"Incoming! Forward left!" a human male's voice bellowed over the cacophony of her weapon.

From the other end of their split bottleneck, a banshee and two marauders came into view. The abomination, whose crest was the only surviving asari trait, threw a Warp, while the still very turian looking creatures opened fire.

"Sniper! Aim for the mind suckers head!"

The slur falling out of one of her sistren vanguard's mouth, sickened Samara, despite the thought that the older maiden may not know any better. She could not yet know that the protheans had planted that misguided seed, could not know that one percent or more of the asari were Ardat-Yakshi. She herself could have a mild case of the loathed condition, and would never have thought that her mate having a mild headache after melding, was often the only symptom, and how likely was it that Samara, a pureblood herself, was one of those feared beings. How many of Samara's own mates had had headaches. How many suffered a mild discomfort, yet said nothing.

She pushed the thought out of her mind and burned threw another thermal on the marauders, but as her rifle alternately blinded her with its strobing flash, she watched in slow motion as a final round from the soldier's rifle, shattered the banshee's head in a sludge and synthetics filled explosion. Unable to suppress her mind conjuring an instant of horror, she imagined the creature was Mirala, the thought making her feel nothing but sympathy for the violated asari. The banshee could have lived a life similar to Liara's, if only she had been allowed the opportunity to do so. Instead, she and the other Justicars had herded her, and Samara's daughters into gilded cages, were they had fallen easy prey to the Reapers.

A moment later, the marauders went down amid a spray of harden minerals and inorganic fluids, but they were quickly replaced by a harvester, lumbering into the kill zone, while from behind the shuttle sized quadruped's legs, four more husks weaved around them, bringing themselves in line with her team, and despite what Commander Wallis had suggested, she did not believe there would be a lull.

Samara then noticed the asari vanguard was hurling a lift grenade at the enormous beast, and quickly launched a Reave at the weapon. The two biotic energies exploded in a vicious shock-wave that sent body parts in all directions, but the harvester remained intact, and brought its massive head to bare down on Amari.

The younger Justicar stared unflinchingly back up at it, and held her barrier, waiting for the moment when it would kill her, but Samara's anxiety at loosing their defence point, dulled when a large red geth sprinted beside the other asari, and fired at the would be killer.

"This is Adam Hammer," Admiral Anderson's voice on her comm broke the drone of gun fire, "we're making our run. Repeat, Hammer is running."

The once enemy, now valued ally, helped them make quick work of the harvester and thankfully, the abomination's massive death explosion, destroyed a few other ground troops converging on them. The geth fought by their sides with as much force as any organic, but It did not look to be in good condition. It leaked and oozed white fluid from holes and seams, and It seemed to favour one leg as It moved and repositioned to fire at the ever approaching creatures.

More husks, more humans who had been taken and remade into something the Reapers could use as a weapon, rushed at them, but there were too many for Samara to count quickly. The swarm was large enough that it would inflict heavy casualties onto her anti-flanking defence team, but then, and without warning, the geth ran into the mass of dementedly augmented organics. Her team was careful not to hit their ally, but as soon as It reached the centre of the group, It exploded. The fireball It threw with Its death, encompassed nearly all the berserking husks. It seemed that the woman who had the ability to reunite them with their estranged creators, also had the ability to inspire them to commit self-sacrifice.

The pressure against them hardly eased, as swarmers began to appear along with their ravagers. Husks and brutes supported the swarmers surging and falling numbers, as they rushed to explode themselves in a spray of acid against her teams, but the tiny cyber-creatures' waves kept coming.

In the ten earth minutes they had been fighting, an endless parade of violent confrontation banged against their battle lines, but thankfully, a member of her team had yet to be seriously injured. Still, in that short time, a small mountain of thermal clips had grown to Samara's right, with the corresponding sea of magazines scattered about her feet. She knew, soon their growing exhaustion would overtake them; then, the Reapers would.

"Samara," Amari's strained voice shouted over the sounds of constant weapons' fire, "I cannot hold the barrier."

The older Justicar could clearly see that biotic energy was leaking from the other asari's armour. She knew how painful the white-blue light would be as it flowed and pulsed over Amari's body, but there was no option for rest, the Reapers would never stop coming, and they dared not hold back even a miniscule portion of their force, but their strength was beginning to wane, their time was slowly running out.

"You will Amari," Samara shouted back, "or we die."

"Fuck!" her Sniper spat at the proclamation, "we need to bug out!"

Samara would not give that order, because if Hammer's efforts were unsuccessful, there would be no place for them to run to. There was no retreat, no stepping back. Their line must be held at all costs, and to Samara's mild surprise, not a single member of her teams moved, they held their positions.

However, Amari began to cower closed eyed under the pain of her exertion, she would not last much longer; then, she would fall and their enemies would have an unrestricted path into their centre. Samara was weighing her options while haphazardly spraying her submachine gun into a group of swarmers, when the Maiden who had stood beside the younger Justicar in their assembly area, ran to the exhausted asari's side to take up the position.

The maiden could not be older than two-hundred years, and Amari did not look as though she would leave to rest in the rear-guard, but before Samara could order her to go, Shepard's voice distracted her.

"Phantom-one, Phoenix-sierra-two, mike-foxtrot-tango," the Woman shouted over the comm, gunfire and the most goddess awful noises filling the background.

"On our way Phoenix," Joker's reply came somewhat distorted.

Samara had left the Normandy's channels and encryption keys programed into her own comm, in the hopes that she might hear some news on the assault's progress, or maybe, just for a chance to hear Shepard's voice when the end came.

"Do you want Doc-Chauk in the shuttle bay for the hand off," the Pilot added.

"Affirmative Phantom, Doc-Blue is mike-charlie-tango and Glitch is juliett-whiskey."

"Copy Phoenix, ETA three minutes."

The people Samara might have come to regard as friends, if The Code had allowed, were injured, and Shepard was now on her own to make the Hammer run. The Woman was a truly glorious and righteous individual, an unceasing warrior who effortlessly rallied others to the cause, and the Justicar knew for certain, the Commander would not turn back from her task. She might send her people to safety, but for herself, she would die by insurmountable odds, rather than give up.

Thankfully however, Samara was saved from further exploring such thoughts, as several geth sprinted into position among her teams. One moved to stand near the biotic sphere, grabbing Amari as It stopped.

"Asari defender," It addressed her, "it's recommended that you vacate the area immediately," It then shoved the overly fatigued asari toward their reserves position.

The younger Justicar stumbled backwards for several moments before landing on her rear. Immediately, she tried to pick herself up, but only managed to tumble over her arm in utter exhaustion.

Samara once again ignored the other Asari, as she hurled a biotic Throw into a Warp a human launched into the centre of three ravagers. The energies detonated, delivering the death blows to the bloated, once rachni creatures, and spilt their semi-formed brood to twitch uselessly on the ground.

The effort of using her biotics so often, set her hands and arms throbbing, and she took a moment to rub at them, but their was very little she could do to sooth the excruciating pain dancing over her skin. Every patch not properly covered by her uniform, burned and twinged, but unlike Amari, who was now being helped to stand and moved further away from direct combat, Samara would not get a longer moment to recuperate.

One of the geth, who looked much the same as the one which sacrificed Itself for them, glided over to speak to her.

"Squadron Lucen director," It's light of a face stared down at her, "I've been instructed to follow your commands in this engagement. Where do you require my fire support platforms?"

Samara examined her teams for a moment. In truth, every one of them needed the geth support, unfortunately there was simply not enough of the friendly synthetics to assist every one.

"Where ever best you deem them," she instructed it with little hesitation, "but I would request that you concentrate on the open areas to either side of our position."

"By your command, asari director," It then lifted Its head and made a series of noises.

The other geth began to spread-out, taking up positions on their own, as well as ones in amongst her teams.

It lowered Its head to addressed Samara again, "may I also inquirer as to where our fire support leader is."

"You do not know?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Do to our current state of sentience and the conditions of the current engagement, we are unable to network as we once did."

"It sacrificed Itself as It began to malfunction," Samara answered evenly, and watched as the geth turned to the wreckage strewn battle field. Its hesitation and slower movements, could almost bring her to believe that It looked mournful.

"I understand asari director," It turned back to the Justicar, "the remaining geth will consider Its sacrifice for an extended length of time. It preferred the designation, Solitaire." It then left to take a position on slightly higher ground.

The addition of more geth was certainly helping her defensive teams, they even gave her a chance for a minor respite, but her group's condition was poor. Far less dire than it could have been, but still, uncomfortably close to collapse. With some of the geth helping cover their flanks, while a few took long range shots to damage approaching forces before they were even within range, ravagers fell before they could be fully engaged, and the brutes and cannibals which made it to their lines, took much less to take down. Samara was considering that they might yet survive the battle.

Then, the maiden fell.

With the young Asari collapsed and unmoving on the ground, her face blotched in deep purple and covered in blisters, her biotic sphere disintegrated. Swarmers instantly rushed threw the gap, and leapt onto the Maiden before Samara could react. She forced herself to ignore the chemically cooking body in favour of trying to save the Blue Sun, and threw as much as she could at the onslaught, as did her allies, trying to give the Pyro a chance to escape, but he did not budge.

He only held his weapon tighter, swept his flames over the swarmers faster, and put as much effort into burning their scurrying bodies to a crisp. She supported his effort to hold off the tide as best as she could, until one of the swarmers ruptured the fuel generator on his back, causing it to BLEVE into a ball of liquid fire.

In the face of the heat and noise filled flare, her Alliance Sniper billowed out his previous suggestion. "We need to fall back!"

This time however, Samara agreed, "withdraw to reserve position!"

The group began a slow retreat, carefully rushing backwards while continuing to try to defend themselves, but the geth stayed their positions. They held true to their pledge that there would be no more compromise with the old machines, and held the onslaught at bay, giving their organic allies time to reposition.

Then husks, who had been absent for the past few minutes, berserked toward them and flooded onto the group's side of the ruined buildings. The area filled with the corpses of reaper abominations as even more trampled over their broken bodies. Hope seemed well and truly lost, all their deaths a close certainty, but then their comms came to life with the first truly good new since their deployment.

"All comm nets, this is Adam Shield. Phoenix has made it to Caleston. We need to give her time to work. Everyone hold on for a few more minutes, we're in the final stretch."

The announcement had the desired effect. All those around her, herself included, pushed with strength they did not know they still had. They reloaded faster, threw their biotics sooner, and fell back slower. Justicar Amari even appeared beside her, not looking at all healthy, yet still, looking ruthlessly determined.

"Samara," the younger Justicar seethed and spit threw clenched teeth, "detonate." She then trapped two ravagers within a biotic Sphere.

Samara did her part, and threw a Reave at the other Justicar's biotic energy, causing it to explode spectacularly, while taking the mutated rachni with it. Without pause, Amari trapped a marauder and a husk but when she detonated this one, the marauder did not go down. The Alliance sniper quickly took aim at it, and finished it off with a strike to the head.

With their new hope protecting them like a shroud, she barked at her synthetic allies, "geth! Fall in!"

They did as she ordered, while she and Amari cleared four more Reaper abominations, but the other Justicar's strength began to give once more. She had helped Samara's teams fight off the worst of this wave, and shed their heavy cloak of exhaustion, but it seemed that fatigue would remain their constant companion, that is, until she spotted the promised runner coming in from the rear guard.

He refilled everyone's magazine bag, and stood by as each down some nutrient fluid that he brought; then when he came to Amari, she tore her gloves off and requested he pour a water pouch over her hands. It allowed Samara to catch sight of her fellow Justicar's injury, and the minor shame she had not fully realized had grown within her, when the younger asari did not immediately get up and defend her allies, evaporated. She could clearly see that Amari's hands and forearms would never heal, her palms were death white and deep black streaks ran from her wrists to her elbows.

Seeing her elder spying her hands, the younger Justicar looked into the other Asari's eyes. "Samara," she began, her voice unwavering, "I must ask you for a kindness."

Samara answered the unasked question immediately, "if the time comes, I will not hesitate."

Silence descended around the two Justicar's, the battle seemingly entering a short reprieve, likely due to the Reapers focusing on the new threat in orbit, and neither were in a shape to refuse the respite.

A moment or two later, Amari broke the hypnotic lull. "It is my hope that Nevi did not suffer unduly."

"Whom," Samara replied.

"The maiden," she answered, her voice still completely even, "my daughter."

Utterly unable to stop them, Samara's thoughts flooded with the painful memories of her own daughters. Mirala's execution, Rila's sacrifice, Falere alone on a dead planet, her own aborted suicide, and the code's demand that she ignore the emotions those memories stirred.

Her mind swirling with those heartaches, the older Justicar spoke in a voice that was just as even as her companion's had been, "I empathize with your loss."

For a brief moment, silence once again engulfed them, but once again, Amari broke it to share her private pain, "I have become of no more use than a root with which to trip our enemies over."

"Excuse me," Samara prompted, genuinely lost.

She held up her hands, "I can no longer hold a weapon," then looked down at them, her gaze even, "I can no longer feel or move my fingers."

Compassion, the enemy of the Justicars, but the sword by which Shepard attacked her enemies. Brutality was the Woman's shield, and she held it for the damned to flail and die upon, but she struck with compassion. Shepard was the champion of compassion, the hero of empathy, but she and the other Justicar's, they were nothing more than blind, naive killers.

"Then seek shelter," Samara replied, taking to her dear friend's example.

Amari quickly objected, "I would be of more use here."

"As an obstacle to slow the Reapers advancements, you would be sorrily inadequate. As a defender, you are handicapped beyond immediate repair, and if you remain, your presence may cause the others to attempt to aid you, thereby weakening themselves."

The younger Justicar looked at her elder as if her crests had suddenly flared.

"The Code will not be satisfied by your remaining," Samara asserted, "if you wish me to end your life now, rather than wait until you have no ability to defend yourself with even simple movement, I will do so."

Amari stared in confusion for a moment longer; then cast her eyes down and gave a small head bow, "as you order Justicar."

No good would come from letting the other asari die, and Shepard would never allow something so foolish to occur.

"Hey," her Sniper called out to her as Amari left, "you a matriarch?"

Samara's unadorned brow rose impressively, "do human's not have some kind of convention on asking others their age?"

"Jeez," he made a face, "I didn't think you asari got uppity 'bout that kinda thing."

The Justicar looked to their new forward position, now dominated by several more geth, a number of rachni, and a few elcor. They were holding their line while she recovered and she was suitably impressed by the elcor. They were making a good job of picking off targets with their massive weapons, but if they once again became swarmed, the giants would be the first to fall.

"Elcor," Samara shouted, "move behind our ranged line." She watched them until satisfied that they were following her orders before turning to answer the male. "No, I am not a matriarch."

"Mmm," the Soldier hummed then held out a wrapped stick of food towards her, "candy bar?"

She scoffed, "asari cannot metabolize sucrose."

"Good thing it's mostly fructose then."

The Male's grin made Samara want to cringe, she wasn't sure why, but he was most definitely cringe worthy. She shook her head, her emotions were getting the better of her.

"You think Shepard's doing alright up there," he continued.

The notion that someone would question Commander Jane Shepard's competence, was ill considered in the extreme. There was no award, no title, that any being could give her that could match the one she earned for herself. Shepard, was the galactic saviour and Samara was prepared to tell the dull stone exactly that, when she realized how very maiden her thoughts were.

"We will know soon enough," she forced her wayward emotions back under control.

The man continued despite the Asari's flat tone, "she's been up there a long time."

Samara looked at him with bland shock, "it has not yet been even five earth minutes."

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, his face slacken and eyes filled with terror.

The Justicar turned to see what had made him look so terrified and was met with the sight of a large Reaper Destroyer. It was only a few hundred meters away, and for a moment she was stunned still. Salvation had been within sight and Samara had taken momentary comfort in the knowledge that Shepard would soon release the destructive power housed within the Crucible, but the endless minutes had passed relentlessly without her, each one bringing them closer to their inevitable deaths.

It shook the ground as it landed and shredded the air with a deafening sound. The noise was very much like the grind of two massive objects rubbing together, but many times louder. Then, the reaper's huge red eye opened and rained a beam of energy down upon an elcor fighter. He vaporized instantly. A second shot took two geth troopers. It moved forward, firing on another group a hundred meters away.

Samara had not even known they was another group so close by. She was powerless to intervene, powerless to stop such a large destructive entity, and she watched with a mixture of impress and horror when instead of fleeing, the remaining elcor fired their cannons and tromped toward the massive semi-organic abomination. She chose not to retreat either, but rather, she flung her biotics at it, not even taking the time to refine what kind of energy she was throwing. The others of her group similarly fired whatever was in their hands, or threw their biotics as mindlessly as she.

The black, insect like beast ignored them, and continued to choose targets in its seemingly random way, killing everything in its sight with sickening ease. It turned slowly, raining vaporizing beams of energy as its gaze shifted. Then a beam struck the ground close enough for Samara to feel it, and the human male was gone, nothing left of him except a scorched depression in the ground. They had no options, no weapon for such a monster, but then, the burble of a shuttle's engines filled the air. The small Alliance craft bee-lined for the armoured giant. The Reaper turned to attack it but was not quick enough, and the little ship smashed into it. The brave pilot was most certainly killed, but his sacrifice was not in vain, the reaper was damaged, its movements slowed.

Samara and an asari commando coordinated with one another, attacking the Reaper's joins and trying to at least cripple it, but their effort was of little use. Death was creeping upon them, but she refused to let her's come easily, she would resist it. They need only last a few minutes longer, a short time until Shepard could release the Crucible's unimaginable destructive energy at the Reapers, but with each second that ticked by, her hopes dwindled.

The end was near, but she would fight it to her last breath, she would burn her nervous system to liquid throwing her very last spark of biotics, she would fight until her body ran cold, she would commit herself utterly. The alternative was far more horrible. She fought alongside Shepard when she defeated the proto-human Reaper, and she would not die by those terms, she would not become a raw material for them to consume.

"Phoenix-sierra-two, Adam Shield, New Moon," Samara's stomach sank at the sound of Admiral Hackett's voice. For her to hear him, he would need to be using the Normandy's channels.

The Reaper destroyer pivoted to turn its weapon on her group again, never stopping from firing its energy beam. She pushed her teams back quicker.

"Phoenix-sierra-two, this is Stellar-Hush, your window is dark, over," he tried again.

Samara and her team took cover behind a building, just as the Reaper vaporized a shuttle in half.

"Shepard, this is Hackett, can you hear me."

The Justicar waited for the reply while shearing a husk apart with her biotics.

"Commander!" the Admiral bellowed, "Jane!"

Samara sinking sensation turned into burning, if Shepard could not fire the Crucible, then everything was for nothing and she would never again hear from the first being in nearly half a millennia she considered a friend.

"Sir," the Commander's voice sounded small and weak, but it filled the Justicar with relief, "I can't... Not sure..."

"Shepard, what's your SitRep," Hackett asked softly.

"Illusive sir..."

"Can you see if there's something wrong? The Crucible's not firing."

The sound of wet coughing flooded Samara's comm, "I don't see... how to..." the Woman's voice was filled with pain.

"Do what you can. There's got to be something," there was real desperation in the Admiral's voice.

A harvester exploded nearby, but the Justicar hardly noticed.

"Commander?" Hackett tried again, "Shepard!"

The Reaper ripped threw a geth fighter, sending it crashing into an already ruined building.

"Janie! Can you hear me!"

It cut a line of destruction into the ground between the buildings Samara's group was hiding behind.

"Normandy requesting permission to mount rescue," Joker spoke up.

A human woman trying to sprint from one cover to another was vaporized in its path.

"Granted Normandy," the Admiral replied, "then get the hell out of here. The Reapers are breaking through Shield. You've only got a few minutes until they blow the Crucible."

A group of quarians began rounding the corner.

"Aye sir."

She reached around to grab their suits two at a time, and yank them behind the wall.

"All comm nets, this is Adam," the Admiral's voice came back on, but he paused.

They had lost, their end was upon them, and Samara began resigning herself to her fate, of dying for this truly just, if lost cause.

"This is Hackett," he began again. "The Crucible has failed. Choose your targets, make your decisions, and make them count. And humanity thanks you for your support."

Above her, another shuttle streaked into view and flew directly at the Reaper. Beside her, the geth came out from behind their cover, no doubt to make a run at the old machine. The rest looked to her for orders.

This was Samara's final moment. Her life was over, and she had not lived it well. She had clung for centuries to a collection of worthless ideals and made no effort to resist when she felt them wrong. The asari Code, the Code of the Justicars, had always been unjust and she had always new this. Knowing that it was based on a people who where nothing more than brutal conquerors, absolved her of no guilt. Learning that the Goddess Athame was a charlatan, nothing more than a Prothean, didn't suddenly make her worship of the idol any more illogical. The Matriarchy, her government, the elders she had trusted since she was a pre-maiden, could have ended the war before it began, but hid the knowledge so that her people could gently dominate the other species.

Samara had let her daughters be tormented and die, for no justifiable reason. She had refused Shepard, when all she really wanted, was to finally heal the wounds of her bondmate's death. All that was left to her, was to die with some manner of dignity.

The now former Justicar pushed herself off the wall and walked to the edge of her fire teams' cover, before turning back to address them.

"Our time has ended," she spoke calmly, and slowly, "It is time for you to choose your own paths."

Samara then turned and sprinted around their corner. Once a target was in sight, she began to fire relentlessly. In front of her, the geth were doing much the same. Behind her, she heard some of her group following, likewise firing at any Reaper target. They ran into battle without a thought to their safety, without the care of tomorrow. Tomorrow would never come, and despite the best effort of most, life was racing toward extinction, the galaxy doomed for another fifty thousand years.

Her reserve teams came out from the buildings as well; then, Commander Wallis and his team. The air filled with the sounds of hidden shuttles powering up. Amari sprinted past, her nearly dead arm outstretched with a constant flow of biotics cascading from her shoulder out off the end of her fingertips.

The guests and inhabitants of Earth, raced to throw themselves upon the Reapers' swords, hoping to strike as much damage as they possibly could before their end.

Without a single consideration holding her back, Samara let go of her emotions and allowed them free rein. She allowed anger and rage and regret and desperation full force within her mind. She allowed herself to feel the loss of what had been growing within her for many months, the bright spark of love for Shepard. She allowed herself to be bathed in these emotions; then took them, twisted them with her biotics, and hurled them at the Reapers.

The air filled with thick clouds of white-blue and endless streaks of red.

Terrible, desperate screams filled the air.

Then, a new sound overpowered the old, followed by a growing orange glow approaching from the distance. The light had the appearance of a flame as it cast its warm hue, but the bright flicker did not fall just on the ground and buildings, it made the very clouds themselves burn. Its mass of swirling colour caused the berserking forces to slow and come to a halt, it even drew the attention of the Reaper Destroyer.

Shepard had done it, she had released the cleansing fire to wash away the plague, and although it appeared to Samara as though they too would be consumed by its force, she could accept this manor of death peaceably, and with the knowledge that the Reapers would die with her.

Her dark lilac lips cracked with a shallow smile as she watched the seething energy wave approach. It was truly beautiful, and brought to mind many other truly beautiful things, but it was a much beloved prayer that drew her focus and she took a deep, refreshing breath to speak it aloud.

"As I leave this place," Samara closed her eyes as she took comfort in the words, "may I go with the Goddess. May she be behind me, to encourage me. Beside me, to befriend me. And above me, to watch over me."

With the sound of the energy wave mixing and reflecting her voice, she continued to recite with her thoughts filled with Shepard, and her face laxed in reverence, "may she be beneath me, to lift me from my sorrows. Within me, to give me the gifts of hope and love. And always may she be before me, showing me the way."

Then, with her final breath, she whispered her benediction.

"Shepard."

An instant later, her nerve endings came alive as the energy wave enveloped her skin. For that instant, it was overwhelming. She felt a thousand sensations all at once, but it wasn't painful, it was oddly peaceful, and for the briefest of moments, she was convinced that she felt Shepard's presence surrounding her along with the energy.

Samara felt free. Her mind and heart were clear for the first time since she had received the terrible news that her daughters were Ardat-Yakshi, since before Mirala had ran, and the world was utterly calm in the aftermath of the Crucible's fire.

The end was as peaceful as she ever wished it to be and her eyes remained closed, the small smile still on her lips, and her weapon dangled uselessly at her side. She was completely oblivious and drowning in the afterglow of releasing herself over to her desires.

Her life had not been all bad. She had dearly enjoyed her adventures as a mercenary, a sensation Shepard had allowed her to recapture. She had loved her bondmate deeply for the short decades they had together, and her heart had been filled with such pride as she watched her children growing. Even her terrible pursuit of Mirala, had its fill of adventure, and her daughter had done many things in amongst the horrible ones, that continued to give her pride.

Samara's reality was slowed, her perceptions unfocused, but a metallic grinding sound and shouts of celebration piercing the air, snapped her out of her hypnotic daze, and she again opened her eyes to the sight of the Reaper Destroyer. Only this time, it was crumpling lifelessly to the ground. The husks and other Reaper abominations, were likewise laying broken and scattered.

Samara was alive, her allies were alive, and maybe...

"Shepard," she breathed the Woman's name as realization and hope washed over her.

There might be a chance, Shepard could have survived. She could have evacuated the Citadel before the energy wave had been released. She could have escaped to Hammer's rally point, to where the mass conduit had been.

With those thoughts, and her heart driving her, Samara sprinted off toward the only place she thought Shepard could be.


	2. Tripping the Abyss

**Summary:** When Prometheus gave humanity the power of fire, they out grew the gods. When the Reapers gave mass effect to the galaxy, Shepard burned them with it. But getting a bullet in the stomach, her face bashed in, and made to glow in the dark, that hadn't been part of the plan. Samara charging to the rescue though, like some magnificent blue Valkyrie, she'd remember to add that bit in for next time.

Shepard's Glissando  
Chapter 2: Tripping the Abyss

Pain. Shepard's entire world was pain. Nothing but agony existed a millimetre beyond her skin. The distance was the terminator of her world, and the event horizon of her misery. A searing, scorching heat bled from her skin, radiated to that invisible barrier; then was sucked back in to reburn her nerve endings. Even the breeze that moved about the world beyond, never touched or cooled her tormented skin, it only flowed over her pocket of suffering. Her body was a black hole, an inescapable singularity of aching pain.

"Fuck", even her hair hurt.

As her consciousness broke the thickened surface of her mind, a terrible groan exploded from her throat, and she gripped at the dirt under her hands. How'd the fuck did she get here. Why'd her stomach hurt so fucking much. It felt like a hot poker had sliced through her front and tore threw her back. Her head was pounding, the blackness spun relentlessly, and the smell filling her senses, was horrific. The heavy scent of cooked meat, a light caramelly undertone, and a strong hint of hot copper, would've been appetizing if she hadn't known where it was coming from. Instead, the barbeque gone wrong, interlaced with the sharpness of burning plastics, created a vile, sickly sweet slurry of choking and gagging.

Shepard wanted nothing more than to get away from the scent of charred human, and so, she pushed past her pain, braced her forearms against the dirt, and tried to roll over onto her side. But the vertigo made her over compensate and she ended up tumbling down the small rise that she was apparently on.

"Fuck," she spat again, was she ever glad that she hadn't eaten anything for a while.

Eventually the Phoenix came to a stop, and thankfully, it was on level ground. She laid there for a moment, or a lifetime, trying to regain her strength, and waited for her insides to stop rolling around; then, she pushed herself up again. This time, she was able to anchor herself and stay in a half lying position. Another moment, or another lifetime later, she tried to force her eyes open, but they only fluttered. It felt like some unseen force was pulling at her skin, and clawing at her body. Again she gathered her strength, again she through force at her eyelids, and managed to let a blurry sliver of light slip past them.

What she saw was an ominous black sky and an expanse of sickly grey, slightly oily looking dirt. A few meters to her right, sat a destroyed gunship, a few dozen to her left, a couple of makos, and all around her lay body parts. Lots of body parts. A few helmets were nearby and she really didn't want to know if they were empty or not. She could see boots and legs and pieces of armour, but no whole bodies. Why weren't there any whole bodies. And why did it feel so strange that there weren't any.

Nothing seemed right, and she couldn't remember a god damn thing. Her mind swirled with half realized images of bodies and bleeding, and a sea of boiling shifting red energy, but so little else surfaced. She couldn't even remember where her weapons were, or where the Normandy was.

The name of her ship sparked off a litany of images, and caused her to instinctively reach up to her ear and push down her tragus.

"Phantom-one, Phoenix-sierra-two, sierra-romeo," she croaked, her voice hoarse and craggy.

Shepard stayed silent for a moment, her world spinning and twisting.

"Normandy, Shepard, how copy, over." Another moment passed with no reply. "Any Alliance or ally, this is Shepard, november-charlie." Again she was met with bleak silence.

The sense of anxiety that'd been building steadily in her chest, now seared and stabbed. Her bleary hazy eyes, stung like they were acid washed. The heat that'd been burning her skin, sliced at her like razorblades. She had nothing, no working equipment, no useful information, and she could hardly move. It drove her to extreme frustration but she refused to give into incapacity. Forcing herself over onto all fours, she tried to elephant crawl away from wherever she'd awoken, but with the first step, she fell over onto her side.

"Fuck!" she cried out in pain and anger. Then screamed, "move you god damn bitch, on your feet!"

Again, she forced herself onto all fours, but this time, threw her arms into the ground and pushed herself off into a sprint. Stumbling and drifting, she managed to run for a few meters before crashing to the ground in a heap of agony.

"Up damn you! UP!"

She seethed and sprayed wet rage through her teeth, and pushed herself back up into another stumble. Her vertigo continued to try to topple her over, but she veered and dodged to keep herself going. With the mission of moving filling her head, and with searing stinging pain attacking them, she finally managed to tear her eyes fully open, and took in the complete devastation surrounding her.

She found herself in a shallow swath of empty desolation, buffeted on either side by mountains of rubble and debris, and a shallow slope was ahead of her with ruined buildings not far from its summit. Everything looked familiar but also horribly wrong. Hadn't she just been here, but running in the other direction, and surrounded by dozens of other soldiers. Now the place was dead empty and utterly devoid of another living thing.

Managing to stay upright, she stopped for a moment and looked around. The strange spike shapes that'd surrounded the energy beam, were still standing at the other end, but the beam itself was gone. The Reaper was gone too. So were the husks.

Her mind raced, causing her headache to intensify. Had they done it, had they fired the Crucible. If so, then how the hell could she still be alive, she'd expected to die. The final charge down the hill to the beam, then through the Citadel to open the ward arms, had been a suicide mission. It was a grunt's rush. They threw every able bodied soldier at it, including herself, trying to tip the statistical odds of success in their favour. But still, it had been a slim to none chance.

Shepard looked directly up into the cloud covered sky. How in hell had she gotten back down. Then a wave of vertigo hit her, and she felt herself swoon. Her vision blurred even more and her brain felt like it was being squeezed. Her cybernetics were completely screwed, she was certain, and she might only have a few minutes before they failed completely. Surviving the run and the Citadel and whatever the Crucible did *and* getting back to Earth alive, only to die of 'injuries sustained'.

"Fuck that," she was not going to let herself die alone. Not without at least trying to take something else out with her. "Where's a fucking husk when you need one."

She noticed an orange glowing ball puncture the cloud cover, and watched as it streaked the sky in an almost completely vertical course to the ground. Probably one of their own cruisers on its way down, after being mostly destroyed in space. They were probably being slaughtered up there. Or rather, *had* probably been slaughtered up there, and she could almost see what the raging battle had looked like in her minds eye.

In fact, she was sure she *had* seen the battle. She could remember being on the Citadel, remember reaching the beam, but the memories after evacing Liara and Tali, felt like the shadow of a dream.

Just thinking gave Shepard a stellar headache, but shutting her eyes filled the front of her skull with relief, and maybe dropping dead right then and there wasn't such a bad idea. But reality was far crueler than she could ever imagine and the pain of reopening her eyes, all but vanished to the new sight above her.

The massive bulk of the Crucible pushing the clouds aside, and falling into the sky.

She watched it for a moment, and idly thought that it looked like the universe was taking a station sized dump on her. There was no way in hell she could out run it, and in any case, she'd never escape the shock wave, but being crushed to death, was really sounding a whole lot better than what she'd been faced with a few seconds ago. She wasn't sure why, it just did.

Her end was near, and she felt more relieved by the prospect then she ever thought possible. Finally, she wouldn't need to fight endlessly, wouldn't need to give life or death orders, and wouldn't need to get up so god damn early every day. A day with an end and not just one blurring into the next. That had some wonderful prospects to it. But it was also a shame, she'd never get another chance to coax Samara into a relationship.

Shepard closed her eyes again and let her thoughts of Samara stir. The Asari had to feel something more than friendship for her, why else would she keep re-avowing her Oath of Subsumation. Just so she could attend her, 'we're all gonna die' party, or so that they could play at the Arena together. No way in hell, but it wouldn't really matter in a few minutes anyway, so she just let her mind fill with fantasies.

A soft smile broke the blood sealed cracks in her lips, "I'm gonna miss you Samara."

She felt a lot better. Raunchy, Lewd daydreams, and the prospect of an interesting death, could do a lot for a person's disposition and for once, it seemed like the universe was going to leave her alone and not bother her. The breeze even managed to slip past her event horizon of pain and cool her burning flesh. Her life had never been peaceful, but her death sure seemed like it was going to be.

She just *knew* something was going to fuck it up. Jane Shepard isn't allowed to enjoy anything, not for very long anyway, so it wasn't a surprise to her when off in the distance, she could hear angry and panicked shouting. It meant that she'd to stay alive for a few more minutes, or hours, and look brave. Maybe even save some moron's ass.

"We got'a get out'a here, that things comin' down!" the predicted ass bitched at the top of his lungs.

Shepard was sure that he was undoubtedly the proud recipient, of a few extra chromosomes.

"We will not be leaving this place until we are certain Shepard is not here."

The Phoenix's eyes snapped open at the sound of Samara's voice. Dieing with the maturely sexy Justicar around was a lot better of an option then being squashed to death alone. Quickly, she turned toward the honey thick voice, almost spinning herself to the ground, but she stayed on her feet and took off back up the slope. She stumbled and surged with every other step, her head spun and pounded and all the pain that had faded when she had resigned herself to death, came stabbing and throbbing back, but she kept pushing herself forward, she had to make it to the top.

"Justicar," a second feminine voice shouted, "the area was evacuated when the beam stopped."

"We got less than five minutes before that thing hits the ground!" the ass spoke again.

Shepard pushed her comm, "Samara, Shepard, I'm in no man's land."

"You may go if you wish," Samara replied to the male, "I will at least make a brief inspection."

Shepard tried her comm again, "Samara." When there was no reply, she shouted, "Samara!"

Her lungs began to burn and the hole through her stomach that she'd mercifully forgotten about, started to stab. Every cut on her face stung to hell and her skin felt like she'd been covered in thermite. The exertion was probably messing with her cybernetics, making everything hurt worse.

"Hey!" she shouted again, "I'm here, in no man's land!"

Samara's chest tightened at the sound of the Commander's voice, "Shepard!"

The Phoenix looked up the slope, searching for the Justicar, and standing there at the top, she saw a patch of blue dotting a streak of pure black, but her vision was beyond blurry and she couldn't tell if it was Samara or not. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to clear them, and when she opened them again, she saw a second patch of blue on the horizon, but this one was clad in red with hints of black and gold.

"Justicar!" the other Asari shouted and pointed, "I see her."

Samara searched in the direction the Maiden indicated, and immediately felt her body flare with shock. Even though she had hoped to find Shepard alive, truthfully, she had suspected that the chances of doing so, were slight at best, but now, seeing the Woman alive and healthy enough to be running toward her, threw Samara's emotions into a turmoil, and evaporated what little remained of her centuries of discipline and training. In an instant, the hardened Code Warrior was stripped away, reducing her to the simple matron she truly was.

The sight of the Asari made Shepard smile even wider, further breaking open the wounds on her lips, but it was short lived, taking her eyes off the ground had thrown her balance, and she started to crash down onto the oily dirt.

The stumble broke Samara out of her shock, and she sprinted down the hill to try to catch the Woman's fall, but it was impossible from their distance and Shepard hit the ground. A moment later, the former Justicar was beside the Commander, kneeling and taking her head into her lap. Then she took one of the Woman's hands into her own and laced their fingers together.

Shepard felt a calm spread through her body at the touch, and wouldn't have been surprised if the Asari had melded with her, but it was quickly replaced by duty and worry.

"Samara, what happened," she barked out a thick wet cough, "where's the Normandy and where's Anderson."

"You have done it Shepard," the former Justicar replied, "you destroyed the Reapers." She squeezed the Woman's fingers, "but I am uncertain where Anderson is, and at last report, the Normandy was attempting to rescue you from the Citadel."

In the distance, the pulsing burble of a shuttle's engines invaded the still air.

"I did it," the Phoenix couldn't help but smirk at herself; then quickly sobered, "what about the fleet. Is Hackett and mother still alive."

Samara began to unconsciously caress Shepard's hairline, but was distracted from answering her question, when the human male asked his.

"Why're her pupils white like that?"

"You will be silent dull stone," she swiftly reprimanded him.

Shepard's mind was trying to piece her situation together, and clouded eyes were a distinct symptom. "Fuck," she tried to move, "Samara you need to get away from me. I've been irradiated, I'll contaminate you."

It didn't take much for the Justicar to hold the Woman in place. "Be still Shepard," she began softly, "all will be well."

"I need to be isolated..."

Samara cut her off, "there is not the time," she pulled the Spectre's head against her stomach, "we will deal with the consequences later. For now, rest."

"My cybernetics are fried," Shepard offered, "Whenever I exert myself, I feel like I'm going to drop dead."

"Do not worry," the former Justicar cradled and caressed the Woman's head much as she would a babe, "The need for exertion is over, simply try to relax."

The Phoenix felt unconsciousness begin to take her, and there was really no telling if she'd ever wake up again. The prospect of death had always been pleasant, and with Samara there, she might even feel comfortable. But she needed to tell the Asari how she felt first. It was an incredibly selfish thing to do, to proclaim her feelings so close to death, and it'd probably make the Justicar uncomfortable to hear it in front of others. But she hoped that her impending end might make Samara more forthcoming with her own emotions.

"I love you Samara," she couldn't help it, she was selfish and manipulative, but she needed the Asari, even if it was only for a few minutes.

The former Justicar gently caressed the curious shape of the woman's ear, "as I love you Shepard."

It startled Samara when Shepard breathed out all her tension, and went completely limp. For a moment, she thought that the Woman had surrendered to death, and she would never begrudge her the right to do so, but she had wished for the opportunity for them to give into their desires for one another. She had wanted to leave behind the four hundred years of isolation, and embrace a life with the righteous and courageous Woman. A young being who showed more wisdom and strength, than those of the former Justicar's peers, but Shepard took a breath and the aching stillness of the moment was broken. Samara's relief was stronger than she could have ever expected, and it was an enormous effort for her to contain the emotion.

The pulsing burble of the shuttle grew closer, it's engines screaming and throbbing as they were pushed beyond their maximum, trying to reach the group and extract them before they were all crushed by the falling Crucible.

"I'd say we have about three and a half minutes ma'am," the human male was getting progressively more agitated.

"That doesn't give us much time Justicar," the asari huntress was much calmer but looked equally worried.

Samara tried to placate them both, "We will have sufficient time."

The Crucible looked as though it was suspended unmoving in the air, as if it was simply looming over the landscape, but when Samara eyed the weapon against the backdrop of the horizon, it was easy to see that the gap was closing fast. Each millimetre represented hundreds if not thousands of meters, but thankfully the distance was great and there was a chance to escape out from under it. Her only concern was that they would be enveloped by the shock wave. When it did finally strike the surface, it would no doubt shake the ground for many kilometres, and cast dirt and debris for at least that distance.

The shuttle was finally in sight, and flying directly towards them. The group stared at its approach anxiously, more than ready to be rid of the uncertainty, and each preying in their own way that nothing bad would happen to the tiny craft.

Shepard began to stir at its approach, pain and discomfort evident in her brow, and at first, Samara suspected that the noise was disturbing the Woman, worsening the pain in her already throbbing head, but when the vessel began to brake its panicked speed, the Spectre began to writhe and choke, and her eyes opened to search the landscape.

"Report," Shepard could barely force the word out.

Samara continued to try to sooth the Woman with touch, "we are being extracted from the area."

"What?" the Phoenix's face was twisted with pain and confusion, which only worsened when the shuttle fired its manoeuvring jets. She groaned in agony and clutched at the pain in her body as the shuttle came down for a landing.

The door slid open to reveal a male soldier. "We gotta move!" he ordered.

With some effort, Samara lifted the writhing Woman into the air. She tried hard to clutch the body into her own and still some of the thrashing, but the closer to the shuttle they became, the worse Shepard's spasms grew.

Once they were within arms reach, the Soldier grabbed the twitching and writhing Commander, and harshly tossed her onto the deck.

The former Justicar found herself upset with the male's treatment of such a hero, but suppressed any outward reaction, it was more important to bring the Woman to a medical camp then to treat her body with reverence.

With everyone loaded, the shuttle lifted off and sped away, but with each passing second, Shepard's condition worsened. She began to choke for every breath as her muscles tensed and spasmed, and it looked to Samara as though she were having a seizure. The former Justicar was unwilling to let the Woman go in such a condition. Passing peacefully into whatever may come next after a declaration of love, was an acceptable death, but if Shepard wished to fight for her every breath, then Samara would join her in the struggle.

She rose up on her knees, pressed the Woman's shoulders to the deck, and barked an order to no one in particular, "sedative." When her demand was not as forthcoming as she expected, she flared her biotics and shouted, "now!"

Immediately, one of the shuttles occupants, she did not care who, pressed a single dose syringe to Shepard's jugular. Within moments her writhing stilled, but she did not completely calm nor did her breathing improve much, but it was enough to allow Samara to work. She began pulling pieces of the Woman's armour off until her torso was exposed, then with her Omni-tool, sliced the thermal-elastic fabric open, exposing the angry and discoloured wound in her stomach.

"Medi-gel," she held out her hand, caring only that her order be followed.

Once the capsule was in her palm, she injected it directly into the exposed muscle, threw the empty aside, and ordered another. This one, she broke open to slather over the wound, repeating the process on the Woman's back; then more delicately, she applied small streaks to the cuts on Shepard's face and mouth. The broken and torn skin immediately began to close, but that did nothing to ease the pained expression on the Spectre's face. Her breaths were little more than irregular gasps, and her body continued to spasm even in unconsciousness.

It seemed that the Universe demanded that The Saviour Of The galaxy, pay a tribute of suffering for her act of heroism, and all Samara could do, was stare at the tortured face of the Being she had come to love, but the sudden stillness from her lap, jolted her out of her reverie, and an instant later, the sound of the high pitched tone from her Omni-tool replaced it with panic. The former Justicar did not hesitate, she rolled back onto her knees and leveraged herself to compress Shepard's chest.

"AED," she commanded before hyperventilating the CO2 out of her lungs.

The asari Huntress caught the small device from the human who threw it from the front of the craft. She broke the protective cover open as Samara leaned in to breathe for the lifeless Commander.

"Hey!" the pilot shouted from the front, "don't use that thing if she's flat lining!"

Samara was not listening, she only interrupted her single minded motions to grab a single dose injector from the top of the device.

"He's right," the Soldier chimed in, "they tol'us not to use those things tha'd way."

The Justicar continued as if no one else was there. With her thumb she snapped the lid off the cylinder, pressed it upward into the woman's diaphragm, then slapped the end as hard as she could. Unlike the other injector, which made a soft tone with a hiss, this one made a loud and chilling clack, but while the sound shocked the other occupants, Samara quietly continued.

"Hey! Idiots! Place the god damn pads while she's doing compressions," again, it was the Pilot who was the voice of wisdom.

"No, no, no," the Soldier stopped the Huntress from doing what they were instructed. "You gotta have bare skin or it won't work."

He cut the rest of Shepard's thermal-elastic fabric off during one of Samara's breaths, while the Huntress peeled the slips of waxy paper off the pad's sticky surface. When they were ready, she reached between the Justicar's hands and placed them in the way the image displayed them to.

"Is that right?" she asked, quickly losing her calm facade at the seemingly endless stress. "Is this it?"

The defibrillator's hologram lit up, and blinked the word Arrest, over a nearly straight line.

"God damn it sir!" the Soldier shouted, "it's flat. She's flat."

"I hear that you idiot," the pilot replied, "minute thirty to the LZ ma'am and it's not going to be pretty. That thing's set to come down right as we're landing."

"Understood pilot," Samara replied.

Everyone's but Samara's hopes were dwindling, it was only she who wasn't surprised when the device gave a sharp tone.

"Stand clear," it's piercing interlaced voice commanded, "do not touch patient."

Shepard's body then jolted.

"Breathe patient," it continued, and Samara did without hesitation.

A moment later, it sounded again, "Stand clear. Do not touch patient."

This time, Shepard groaned when she twitched, and tried to roll onto her side.

"Breathe patient," Samara calmly reached over the Woman to change the device's settings.

The Soldier turned to the front of the craft smiling, "christ. She's breathin' sir."

"God damn it, I can hear that. Just over a minute now, ma'am. When we land you should pull that thing off her, we don't know if they'll be an EMP."

"I understand pilot," the Justicar nodded.

The AED beeped, "Stand clear. Do not touch patient. Do not breathe patient."

Shepard twitched and whined, "awh, take it off."

Samara petted the Woman's forehead, "I am afraid I cannot Shepard. Your heart is not beating regularly."

"Then knock me out."

"I am afraid I cannot do that either. A sensitive..." she began, but Shepard interrupted her.

"Then just fucking hit me," she begged.

The device beeped again.

"Fuck, kill me."

"Stand clear. Do not touch patient."

"At least shut the uhh," she twitched at the shock and began to shiver.

Samara pushed her shoulders back to the deck, "all will be well Shepard. Be patient. We are almost at the medical camp."

"Please," the Phoenix choked on a sob, "stop being so positive. I can't take it."

Shepard gritted her teeth, and swallowed her sound of pain as the device went off again.

"I don't know what's worse. Being electrocuted or feeling like my implants are trying to jump out." Her brow furrowed as she half cried, "I really need to hit something."

The Huntress knelt prouder, and offered herself to the human who had saved everyone's life, "you may strike me if you wish Commander Shepard."

Before Samara could negate what the young Maiden had said, or still the Woman's movements, Shepard swung with all her pain, and connected squarely with the Asari's temple. The impact sent the Huntress flopping over onto her side, unmoving and flat cheeked against the deck.

"Shit ma'am," the Soldier laughed, "you knocked her out cold."

"Will you shut up," Shepard chided as she collapsed.

Samara eyed the Woman evenly, but remained silent.

"She shouldn't have offered," the Phoenix defended, "and it made me feel better.

"I am certain that will bring the Huntress satisfaction, that is, when she regains consciousness."

Shepard's head pounded as she tried to think. "What happened, where's the Normandy."

"You defeated the Reapers, but your short term memory has somehow been damaged. You are forgetting events as they happen, and I do not know where the Normandy is."

"We're coming in," the Pilot interrupted them, "stand fast until the shock wave passes."

Samara tilted her head slightly, still regarding the Woman in front of her, "and the Crucible is falling from orbit."

Shepard almost scoffed at how minor the Asari made it sound, it was only a big god damn thing, the size of a station and crashing into the Earth, but she was in way too much pain for sarcasm. It felt as though her brain was trying to pound its way out of her head, and when the engines flared to slow them down, it made it worse, so much worse. The pulsating sound resonated in her body, making her feel as if she was being torn apart from the inside out. It was obvious that her implants were failing, and if those failed, she was dead.

The Woman's writhing and growls of pain only worsened, her heart beat came more irregular, and Samara could do little to nothing to help, only uselessly try to comfort. Her life as a Justicar saw her save no one, she was a defender of The Code, not a saviour like Shepard. A Justicar would kill to protect, carry wounded to safety, summon medical attention, but when one was close to death in their presence, it was viewed as a simple act of nature, the will of The Goddess. Not since the death of her bondmate had she sat by someone's side, wishing that she were more capable. Shepard on the other hand became enraged by death, and driven to conquer it with every being she met; Samara was simply cowed, and even in the face of losing a fourth being she deeply loved, she felt herself succumb to her old habits. Being unable to beg and barter the unknown for her love's well being, filled the former Justicar's face with the deepest shame.

The shuttle vibrated and shook as it made its violent final approach, and Shepard screamed in harmony with the straining engines, but it was over in a few seconds with a bang and the shutter of hitting the ground.

"Touchdown," the Pilot shouted, "full shutdown."

The soldier flinched toward the AED, "hey, the Commander's heart beat's fine now."

Shepard groaned, her voice weak and broken, "someone please shut him up."

"Shit," the Pilot jumped out of his seat, "they're fucking coming out." He went for the door while shouting, "everyone bail!"

Samara reached to tear the defibrillator pad's from Shepard's chest, but the Woman grabbed her behind the neck and pulled her closer.

"Find Miranda," the Phoenix's voice was threaded with desperation, "find her Samara. She's the only person who'll know how to fix the implants."

Samara felt the Woman's desperation seep into her chest, "I will find her Shepard. I promise you this."

Before either could do or say anything more, several pairs of hands grabbed and pulled at the Commander's body. Within seconds she was installed into an isolation stretcher and rushed toward the camp's entrance. Samara would be little help if she followed, but she had a task to occupy herself with, and an unconscious Maiden to haul into the makeshift building.

The Soldier watched as the Justicar easily threw the other Asari over her shoulder, before sprinting to the door. He followed at her heels, and was surprised at the Asari's strength and ease of movement, despite carrying the weight of a whole extra person. She really seemed anything but the delicate woman he believed all her peoples to be.

"Incoming seismic pressure wave," the camps VI droned, "brace yourself. Do not lie on the floor. Do not lean against the wall."

Samara dropped the Huntress onto her bottom and squatted to hold her upright.

The younger Asari jerked and swooned, "was Commander Shepard comforted by my offer Justicar?"

"Yes Huntress, she was, but it was still a foolish gesture of youth."

"I understand Justicar."

Then the world began to shake violently, but it was nothing like the vibrations most were accustomed to on a ship or station. It felt as though the planet was attempting to buck them off the surface, and while the tremors in space lasted only a few seconds, these dragged on.

It became progressively more difficult for Samara to remain upright, especially while trying to hold another being. Reflexively she put her hand against the wall for support, but snatched it away almost immediately, the vibrations from the metal surface threatening to break her bones. She prayed it would end soon, but even as the earth beneath them cast its anguish, the sky burst with its own torment.

The violence was more than Samara had ever witnessed. It was more power than the Reapers had wielded, and for a moment she thought this would be the end of them all, but the shaking began to die down, the howling wind calmed. The ground was once again firm, the sky less deadly, but the home planet of humans, bore another scar. The air outside which had already been darkened by the damage inflicted by the Reapers, was darker still, and now carried in it a thick soup of dust and debris.

Samara propped the Huntress against the wall, "notify me immediately if Commander Shepard's condition changes."

The Huntress nodded awkwardly, her head still flopping from her concussion.

Then the Justicar turned to the Soldier, "I require a communicator."

"Uhh, alright," he had no idea where the place might have one, but thought telling the Asari that, might be hazardous to his health. With that unpleasant thought in mind, he began to search aimlessly for a comm, the intimidating Justicar close behind, breathing down his neck with every step.


	3. Matryoshka

**Summary:** Teetering on the abyss of death, Shepard's mind is thrown back into her past, back into times when she's fought to stay alive. And sometimes, in the dying echo of a life flashed before one's eyes, when memories of the past and the reality of the present merge, the answers to the universe's questions whisper through the void. Or at least, your little slice in it.

** This is a new chapter, old chapter 3 is now chapter 4.

**Chapter notes:** I seem to be perpetually apologizing to everyone, and I really have no excuse for Glissando. Quite simply, I was stuck. I rewrote this chapter, like, ten times, and I still wasn't satisfied. But, thanks to Nikki, the idea of switching around chapter 3 and 4, and the new flow I found, I think I can move forward.

**Special Note:** I'd like to thank my beta Nikki, "A little more persistence, a little more effort, and what seemed hopeless, turned into glorious success." ~Elbert Hubbard

Shepard's Glissando  
Chapter 3: Matryoshka

...The explosion slammed into Shepard's body

"Cerebral implant's failing!"

...Sending the stars spinning wildly across her vision

"Shit! We're losing her!"

...Alchera whipped past her eyes at odd angles

"Direct Cardiac stimulation, now!"...

"Damn it!"

"No response."...

"Where the fuck are you, you bitch!"

"Reading zero activity..."...

Shepard jerked and twisted around erratically, her ghostly reflection's eyes darting about just as frantically as her head. But she couldn't see the ugly piece of shit that shot her ship down, the only thing left was the mangled corpse of the Normandy, and some quickly retreating escape pods.

Quickly, she hit her comm. "Doc-Blue, Phoenix-sierra-two, Golf-Whiskey, one-six-zero by two-two zero at six-Ks." Then waited for a reply, her pants short, her patience growing shorter.

"Doc-Blue, Phoenix-sierra-two, Golf-Whiskey, Golf-Whiskey." Panic flared in her chest. "Any, this is Shepard, Golf-Whiskey! Golf-Whiskey! Golf-Whiskey!"

Nothing. Not a god damn mother fucking thing. And her salvation was growing smaller into the distance. Fuck! It'd be days before someone swept the wreckage, she wouldn't last that long. Maybe one or two, if she near suffocated herself, but after that, she'd either freeze or asphyxiate.

Suddenly, her HUD came alive, an alarm sounded, and bold red coloured words flashed over her visor. 'Pressure Warning!'

"No," she breathed. "No, no, no, no. You useless, god damned, cunt sucking, fucking, bastard, bitch, whore. You're not doing this to me! I'm not done yet!"

The level indicator fell, '85', '83', '80'.

She didn't even try to slow her breathing, she just bit her lip and felt around for the rush of air. Something hit her glove and she brought her hand into view. "Goddamn it." It was covered in ice crystals.

The alarm pitched up and the blinking text changed, 'Emergency Repressurization Failure. 60 kPa'.

"Liara," Shepard screamed into her comm, a hot chill slicing over her skin. "Please no. Not yet." Her face twisted into panic.

'Oxygen Enrichment Engaged - 100%'

"Fuck." She looked down at her hand and began punching commands into her Omni-tool.

'Locator Beacon Activated'.

The Phoenix brought her breathing under control. She'd been trained for this, near spaced by her own mother countless times since she was a child. She'd get through this.

'40 kPa'

Her eyes fixated on the pressure display.

'30 kPa'

Her lids began to flutter and her breath came in short gasps as she fought against the elastic pressure of the suit.

"Gra'ma," she could barely hear her own voice in the thin whistling air. "I couldn't..." She shook her head, her vision swimming. "I couldn't do it..."

A moment later, and Shepard was gagging and gurgling as the moisture in her throat and lungs began to boil.

'15 kPa'

Blood droplets mixed with her rapid breaths, sprayed and froze over her visor. But impossibly, her body refused to give in, it continued to fight for life. She watched her reflection, almost as if it was another person, watched as the muscles around her jaw and throat twitched, as her tongue spasmed with every hard fought gulp of air.

'!Below threshold!'

The sickening sound of wet popping and crackling filled her helmet, her eyes bulged as they were forced opened by the pressure in her head, saliva and blood evaporated out of her mouth to immediately crystallize in the thinning air, the mission clock on her HUD rolled over four god damn minutes, and her torment, just continued. The sound of air whistling out of whatever rupture was about the only thing Shepard could hear. That, and the faint wet sounds being torn from her throat. It was endless. Why the fuck was she still alive.

'Emergency Repressurizer - 50%'

The suit was fighting to keep her alive as space sucked it out of her. Then the timer rolled five god damned minutes and her body was still struggling to clutch onto life. Spacing was supposed to be quick and easy, not this god damn agony, and it was impossible to think how low a pressure her body could still cling to consciousness with, even at 100% oxygenation.

The gauge on the repressurizer's reserve slowly dropped, the rushing air carried her precious heat away, her mouth, eyes, skin, and lungs froze, but because of the mechanical pressure of the suit's lining, she only felt vacuum on her face. It was like thousands of needles stabbing into her flesh, and reminded her of hiding in airlocks while growing up. But it didn't last long. Soon, everything felt numb, felt dead.

The repressurizer finally reached zero, and Shepard watched as her vision quickly went black, as the last shred of life finally, mercifully, drained from her soul. But the universe wasn't done making her suffer. Shocks spread out from her chest, making her muscles jerk and twinge. She wasn't being allowed to just die, her misery lasting forever.

The pain intensified as it slammed into her, and lights began piercing her closed eyes. Her heart was pounding, her head swimming. She felt restrained. Didn't know what was going on. She needed out. She must be with Cerberus, strapped down to a table and being turned into a half human freak.

Struggling, Shepard tried to force her way out of her bonds, out of these assholes' hands. She wasn't going to go through that again.

"Commander," a familiar male voice spoke from behind, "you need to calm down."

"Stow it space-face," she yelled back. "And let me the fuck out of here." She was blinded by a white light, confused, in pain, and not in the mood to deal with anyone's bullshit.

"You're in a medical camp."

"I don't fucking care where I am." But being spaced and waking up with electronics shoved into her head, happened a long time ago, she couldn't be reliving it. Unless she was in hell. "Last time some shit like this happened, Cerberus filled me up with a bunch of crap."

"That 'crap', Commander, is failing."

"I don't fucking care!" She railed harder. She couldn't move her head. Pain around her face. A gun barrel between her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing Lieutenant!" A new voice, a woman.

"Shepard," another one, even more familiar than the guy's. "You need to jettison the attitude. Now!"

The Phoenix looked down the muzzle, her body tight, but stilled.

"Whatever the crucible fired," Familiar Woman continued, "it messed up your implants. If you don't let us work on you, you've got less than an hour to live."

"And if I do?"

"A few days, tops."

God damn it, why couldn't she have died doing something stellar, not helpless and strapped to a mother fucking gurney. "Who got to the beam?"

"You did."

Shepard couldn't help but smile at that. But then, the world began to fade.

"The Reapers are disabled, most of the ground troops vaporized."

"My crew?" She felt hot everywhere. The room, spinny.

"Your ship went down in Siberia. The only thing I got from Chakwas, was that there were no fatalities."

"Jack... Grissom cadets... Liara... Samara..."

"You're about to pass out, you won't remember anything."

"Everything done...?"

"Yes Commander," the first woman intruded, "you can rest now, let us take care of you."

She'd done it. She'd feared so hard when the SR1 blew that she'd failed, that the galaxy would fall. But she'd done it, she saved everyone. Gra'ma'd be proud.

"D. N. R." She forced out through her haze.

Silence floated around her head like an oppressive humidity; then, First Woman spoke.

"Don't give up Commander, you just need to hang on.

"Job done... Die.. Now..." Blackness had almost completely swallowed her, sweet nothingness almost within reach.

"You don't have a choice Shepard," the Male replied.

"FUCK!" She fought to stay awake. "Fucking let me die! I can't take it! I can't!"

"You haven't been dismissed yet Commander."

"God damn it," she sobbed, "fuck you, you life worshipping fuck. I can die if I fucking want to."

"You need to hold on Commander."

"Where the fuck's Lawson, and fucking T'Soni." They'd respect her choices, they'd let her die. "I'm not... doing this... job's done." Blackness crept back in.

Lieutenant Whoever's gun was still in her face. Shepard had to know her, no one else would be crazy enough to draw a weapon on a patient in OR.

"Lieutenant..." She was seconds away from passing out completely. "Need you to put a round in my head."

She was almost gone, and she wouldn't remember anything that just happened. They'd try to convince her that Frankensteining her again was the right thing to do, that she needed to live, despite already dieing twice and going through all the bullshit she had.

"Jane."

Fuck. They *did* know each other.

"You stopped the reapers, and what's left can be mopped up with relative ease. If anyone deserves to choose when to go, it's you."

Damn fucking right.

"But the Citadel is smashed, the Council is MIA, everyone's military is in pieces, and our best estimates place the galactic population at half."

Fuck. She felt tears stinging her eyes.

"What do you think's going to happen when the stragglers are taken out?"

That wasn't her responsibility. No one had listened to her the first time... Fuck, no one listened the second or third either. This was someone else's mess, she paid her dues, and if she wasn't going to retire to Intai'sei in peace and intact, she was *not* going to spend another two years being sewn back together by a bunch of mad tailors.

"The galaxy's going to tear itself apart. And there's only one person anyone will listen to."

"Didn't listen before," Shepard tried, but she knew she was losing. Lieutenant Whoever was just making too much god damn, mother fucking sense.

"Bullshit, and you know it."

Alarms began sounding.

"She's rolling!" the Life Worshipping Jackass called out.

"Need... Write..."

"You can't keep your eyelids up," the Lieutenant replied, "let alone a data pad."

"Blood pressure's falling", "Pulse bottoming out".

"Need... Lawson..." Shepard could feel the last of her resolve fade.

"Damn it, get me another IV generator, stat!"

"She's on her way Jane." The Lieutenant still hadn't hung her pistol. "Just hang in there. We might be able to get you through the next few days."

"Might... Hate... Might..." She'd forget everything. She didn't know how many times she'd already woken. "Ring..."

"Hollister! Get out!"

Shepard felt her hands being untied and brought together over her stomach. She could barely move her fingers to release the locks on her division ring. Then she lost all strength in every muscle, and the verge never seemed so close, never loomed so big. But she felt another Phoenix ring slide over her finger, its unfamiliar holdfast gently biting into her flesh.

"I promise Shepard-"

Her own ring settled against Hollister's, binding the two together like welded flesh.

"If we lose you-"

They'd have to cut them, or her finger off to take it.

"I'll make sure no one'll bring you back."

Then the universe swirled and streaked through her eyes, the sounds of singing bowls drowned out her every thought, and euphoria soaked her every pore.

"Janey!" Her Grandmother shouted. "Forget about what's god damn right, just fucking do what needs to be done!"

She felt like she was suddenly FTLing naked through space, her mind G-locked.

"We can't just shoot'em Shepard." Corporal Bison pleaded as she brought her weapon to another batarian's head. "They're surrendering for christ's sake!"

The sensation of cool water rushed over her skin, and everything was blindingly dim.

"I'm sorry Jane." Doctor Chakwas put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She's dead... You killed her."

Her senses numbed, but somehow, it all made her very calm.

"Lieutenant Shepard!" She turned to the Blue Trooper helping her hold the line. "They've breached the barricade! They're coming in!"

She could see something bright off in the distance. A class A or F star. Maybe five or so light years away, and coming up in the darkness fast.

"It's already here L-T," Williams shouted over the comm, "and it's bleeding geth all over the bomb site, I'm activating the nuke."

It's corona reached out for her, tendrils of white hot plasma flaring into her face.

"It's your shot Jane." Her Mother's nails dug into her shoulder. "Take it, save the team." But she hesitated, unable to fire with the guy's daughter sitting on his lap. "Shoot Jane! Shoot now! Or they all die!"

Then the deafening hum twisted into a metallic scream, and pain laced through her eyes.

"Jane, your Grandmother's ship was attacked by pirates." She couldn't look up into Captain Hackett's eyes. "It was dragged into the grav well."

The light reached into her very core, clawing and digging at the back of her head, stabbing into her chest.

"Do it right Janey." Her grandmother's voice was rich, commanding, and above all, calm. "Or don't god damn do it at all!"

A Reaper's sonic blast sliced the air.

"Had to be me." She wanted to argue with that damn hyperactive bastard. "Someone else might have gotten it wrong." But she couldn't, Mordin was right.

Her world spun sideways on its axis.

"Hey! Little girl!" A man shouted as he ran out of the building. "What the hell do you think you're doing carrying around a gun."

White light drowned out her vision.

"I'm fine Shepard." Samara's cocky assed daughter stared at her with utter hate. "I'm always fine."

Darkness crept around the edges of the light.

"They grabbed Toombs ma'am!" Her Heavy shouted from the perimeter.

Blinding dark, and piercing light, gave way to vibrant images and soft textures.

"Will killing him fix my head!?" Jack's grip strangled her pistol, as she pressed it hard into Aresh's head.

Screaming tore at Shepard's ears.

"We've lost all contact with Thessia!" She wanted to tell Tevos to swallow it, but knowing that'd hurt Liara, stopped her.

The star engulfed her body.

"I'm sorry Shepard." They were wearing masks, but she easily recognized her friend's voices. "Your mother ordered us to."

She was sucking vacuum.

"We're losing her!"

"What exactly do you want from me Jane?" Shepard's mother's voice was as cold as space.

"Thirty milligrams adrenalin!"

"For me to be proud of you?"

"No effect!"

"And what precisely am I supposed to be proud of?"

"Cybernetics going critical!"

"That the Council made you their expendable token human Spectre?"

"Hit her limbic cross link again! Forty Joules!"

"That you hunted down their insane turian liability they loosed on us?"

"Zero activity in stem implant!"

"Or that you sacrificed half our ships to save them?"

"Cerebral's failing again!"

"No Jane! You're a deserter!" Hanna spat.

"Eighty joules directly into her optic interlink!"

"A disgrace to the uniform!"

"Again!"

"To everything it means to be a Phoenix!"

"More power to the kinetic restraints!"

"You betrayed away everything your grandmother fought for!"

"Paralytic!"

"Everything I've ever tried to teach you!"

"Get on top of her now!"

"No!" Hannah was yelling. "No. I couldn't be any more ashamed of you Jane!"

"Hold her down!"

"You've sold out your humanity!"

"Heightened limbic activity."

"There's nothing left in you that I recognize as my daughter!"

"Spike detected in amygdala!"

"Now get the hell off my ship Spectre, before I blow that pathetic toy of yours off my scope!"

"Implant power rising."...

...The world spun back into focus just outside her perception, but the rage burning in her chest helped to clear her mind.

"Finish intubation...!"...

Jane awoke, head spinning, face aching, and with a healthy sense of doom gnawing at her gut. And she was cold. God damn cold. Low dirt-side temps usually didn't bother Spacer's too much, if anything, it's heat that got to 'em. Even the deadest of winters on any desolate rock was a breeze compared to living even a short time in a pressure suit. But this was somehow different, and her semiconscious mind was screaming at her to get the hell up.

That was difficult to do though, she felt like she'd been pummelled half to death by some sadistic sparring partner. In all probability, something her mother had arranged. Then, she remembered the distress call, Mindoir, batarians, and having her face bashed in by one of those four eyed bastards.

Trying not to flinch, or give away that she was alert in any way, she cracked her eyes open, and took in her predicament. And shit, it was one hell of a predicament. They'd stripped her of her armour, and every slip of her fucking clothing, shoved her into a cage barely big enough for a varren, and crammed about two dozen other sapiens in nearby ones.

Slavers, mother-fucking slavers. Jane hated igno-assed fucking slavers. They took every living thing: sapien, sentient, or otherwise, and stripped them of every ounce of dignity, of every sense of self, and broke them in every way one being could break another.

Earthers used to have slavery, the memory of which was mostly relegated to history books, but they had it, and it was an oily vicious evil every child learned about. But Jane Shepard was not going to live to have those vagaries turned into a sharp reality. No fucking way in hell, she'd die first.

Carefully, she looked around, cataloguing everything she saw: Smooth nondescript walls, twenty-five to thirty thick wire cages, two batarians by the door, access port by them, nothing loose on the floor, each cage locked with a mag latch.

Then she examined the batarians closer: Both in medium armour, physically strong, somewhat dumpy looking, mix of heavy and light weapons, and stun sticks. Practically nothing to help her escape.

A stun stick. Despite herself, Jane smiled, a stun stick. That'd be perfect.

"Hey," she tried to sound aggressive, but to her ears, she only sounded hoarse. "Hey, four eyes. You know how many of you cocksuckers I put on the ground."

"Shut up human," the batarian closest to the door gruffed.

The other one growled, and tried to peacock menacingly. That'd be her target, violent, and dumb enough to fall for her baiting.

"Twenty-one, needle dick," she taunted, and gritted her teeth to hide her glee at his reaction. "Did that translate? Fuck face? It means your penis is small. Micro sized. And the other thing means that the hole in your head is only useful for other males to mate with."

"Shut your mouth pink skin, or I'll rip your azure apart!"

"Wrong species moron, humans don't have azures. How the fuck is your useless species gonna beat us into submission if you don't even know our basic biology."

"I'll rip you apart," the Dumb one growled, and Jane braced herself for what was to come.

"Be silent," a soft terrified voice called to her from her right, "they will kill you."

The attack didn't come. The Smart one grabbed Dummy's arm and held him back. "Just drop it."

"Shepards don't go down easy hunn," Jane whispered back to the shaking asari.

"You hear what she said about me?"

Smart-guy shook his head. "I hate drawing guard duty with you."

"Listen to your friend there little dick," she pushed, "you'll live longer."

"What are you going to do human?" Dummy barked back, "you're nothing. Less than nothing. And I'm going to make sure they break you in hard."

"Oww, so scared. I'm a Phoenix-kid you igno-assed shit. There ain't nothing you can do to me that we don't do to ourselves. Besides," she smirked, "with such a tiny weapon like that? How'd I even know you got started."

He growled in rage, marched to her cage, and jammed his stun stick through the opening.

Jane reacted instantly, grabbed the weapon with both hands, the electricity locking her grip, and threw herself twisting onto the ground. The sharp pulsating pain ended the moment the stick left his hand, but she didn't waste time recovering, she flipped it over and thrust it out into his leg.

Dummy stumbled backward, bellowing in pain.

"Come on shit for brains," she pressed home her attack, "come take your phallus back from the little human girl."

He moved forward again, but Smart-guy derailed her plans once more. "Are you stupid?"

"Yes," Jane interjected, "yes he is."

"She's locked up, and going to spend the rest of her life shredded and bleeding."

"Don't count on it."

"She insulted me!" Dummy was screaming now. "I'm going to break her myself!"

"Give me your weapons."

Oh perfect, the idiots were going to make it easy for her.

"What!?"

"She's already got your stunner," Smart-guy countered, "you want her to get your gun and blow your brains out?"

"You think I can't control one puny little girl!?"

"You're not thinking straight. But if you want to go in there and get yourself skinned, you're not risking my life."

"Then I wouldn't let him in here jackass." She hoped Smart-guy was at least a little susceptible to her tactics.

"Here," Dummy practically shoved his AR and pistol at the other batarian.

Jane readied herself, ducked lower, brought her knee up, braced her foot in a runner's start, and waited for the moment. She saw that Smart-guy let the extra assault rifle and grenades hit the ground, but was keeping a firm grip on the pistol, his own holstered on his right hip.

Adrenalin flared through her veins at FTL, her heart thudded in her chest, the headache she woke with forgotten. She was primed, ready to go, surging with energy, itching for the clash. She hated it, but it was useful, it'd keep her and the other prisoners alive. Alive, if she didn't make a mistake.

"May the goddess grant you luck."

She didn't look for the face belonging to the voice. A microsecond's hesitation was all Dummy would need to get the advantage. Jane was on the lower ground, exposed, fighting out of a hole. Him, superior odds, uninjured, probably well rested, had backup. Her, better trained, more to lose. Him, arrogant, angered, emotionally unstable, unexpecting. Her, determined, fighting for a greater cause. Him, prurient, vengeful.

Then, Dummy opened the cage and reached in, but Jane exploded forward, shoved the stun stick into his neck, pushed him backward, and ignored the bleed-over of electricity from where they connected. A half second later, a shot hit Dummy's shields, but the Phoenix was protected from smart-guy's attack within their perimeter. Another half second and she moved her left hand from Dummy's torso, blindly reaching for Smart-guy's holstered pistol, crashed the two batarians together, ripped the weapon from its seat, took a step back, squeezed a round into Smart-guy's temple, took another step, and put a round into the back of Dummy's skull.

She didn't give herself time to process, she just put a better aimed shot into each of their heads; then threw herself against the wall. She strangled her heaving breaths as she waited for the reinforcements to storm, but the other god damn prisoners wouldn't stop staring at her.

"Eyes down," Jane barked, "stop fucking looking at me, you'll sell out my position."

Most did what they were told, but a few continued to gawk. "Now!" she whispered harshly, "or I shoot your eye out!"

But she didn't have time to deal with them any more, the door opened, and she waited half a beat before swinging around, putting a shot up the lead batarian's nose; then used him as a shield while she thermaled out her AR into the bastards behind.

They went down into a heap of worthless nothings, and again, Jane didn't give them a passing thought as she put a round into each of their heads. These fuckers didn't deserve to live, they didn't even deserve the quick death she was granting them.

Jane quickly checked the corridor; then turned back to the prisoners. "Are any of you LEOs?"

She counted the cages while waiting for someone to get the guts to speak up.

"I'm a cop sir- ma'am," a very small blond, and the eighteenth prisoner Jane counted, answered.

There was no way this tiny little thing was a beat cop, no way could she provide security for a bunch of locals, let alone help her take out a ship full of hardened mercs.

"What department?"

"D-dispatch ma'am."

Jane tried not to roll her eyes. "Anyone got a real answer." Then when no one else came forward. "Fine, sit tight. You'll either be out of there in thirty minutes, or I'll be dead."

But before she could leave, a human man, number twenty-two out of thirty-one, whined. "You're not just going to leave us here, you can't just leave us here-"

"Listen," she barked him into silence. "I let you out, you become two things. A target, and a liability. You sit there, you shut the fuck up, you live. I let you out, I have to protect you, and your brains get to be deck paint if you're caught." She pointed the salvaged rifle at him. "So shut the fuck up, tell them everything you know, and fucking wait."

She stood still for a second, trained on his head, emotions surging over her body. "Any more questions before I go try to save your lives?" A pause. "And probably get skull fucked in the eye for the trouble?"

No one made a sound.

"Good."

With that, she dragged the bodies into the hall so the prisoners wouldn't have to look at them, sealed the door, and stripped the pieces of shit of their armour and weapons.

Nothing fit properly, so she secured a shield belt around her naked waist, and slipped one of the smaller torso shells over her head. Gloves and boots were also out of the question, but she found that the batarian leg and arm guards cinched up nicely. Fuck, this was going to be an utter fucking shit show, running around with her airlock hanging open.

She crept up to the next storage room, and visibly melted with relief. No Slavers. And Phoenix Engineering Cadet Young trying to break her lock with a slip of metal.

When the door opened, Jane saw the other Phoenix shove the pick into her mouth; then take up a submissive posture. "Spit it out Suey, you don't know where that's been."

"Slap'me black'n blue," Young collapsed against the front of the cage. "Get me the hell atta here Shep, it's col'er than a witch's tits."

"Come on," she shot the lock of, "their whole board's probably red by now."

"I ain't rubber-neck'n." Jane shook her head at her friend as she shoved her out the door.

"Any of you LEOs or Military," she asked the new crowd, as she slowly backed out of the room. "And I don't need dispatchers."

When no one answered, she turned to leave.

"Hey, you can't just leave us here..."

Shepard shut the door. "Not doing a round two on that crap."

"Bitch again?" Young was in the midst of checking over the Omni-tools.

"Nothing," Jane put her back against the next door, "just a disagreement on the definition of freedom."

"Yeah." The Engineer seemed satisfied with whatever she chose, and slid up next to Shepard. "The dirt eaters got some yappers on'em."

Shepard shook her head. "Kickers. Suzanne. Dirt Kickers. If every slang's going to fall out of that redneck mouth of yours, use the right ones."

"Are'ya gonna get uppity, or we gonna breach the hatch."

"I just remembered why I always want to shoot you."

Jane felt Young's hand on her shoulder, Shepard nodded in response, the Engineer squeezed; then she breached the door and they stormed in. Instantly she came face to face with a batarian, who fired into her shields. Shepard held her shot until the barrel was right in his ugly face; then blew his forehead open.

She turned sweeping the rest of the room. "Clear."

"Clear," Young repeated.

"Ensign Yvonne Hollister, plus three," a Woman said from somewhere in the middle of cages.

"Afirm," Jane nodded, "Engi, open."

"On'it," Young knelt down in front of the first cage.

"I'm Shepard."

"Oh fuck me," another Woman, most definitely military, complained. "The Widower's Kid."

"Hey," Young spoke up, "shut yer pie-hole. Our chances of gett'n atta here alive are fifty times you bush shitters'."

Jane took a calming breath. "Make sure they don't let anyone out that can't contribute." Then dragged the batarian's body into the corridor.

"Afirm." The Engineer moved to the next cage Hollister gestured to.

There was going to be trouble with the Ensign, Shepard could feel it. Young and herself were basically cadets, zero authority, and even less ability to threaten reprisals if the newcomers didn't follow her orders. And, she could just feel the smug proprietary radiating off the Twit.

Almost as if on cue, Hollister and her crew postured their way out of the storage cell together, Young picking up the rear and shaking her head with exasperation. The Ensign practically stomped into Jane's space, coming to a halt only an inch before they touched; then, tried to stare her down. Despite it being absolutely absurd to do so while completely naked.

"Who the hell put you in command."

"I did," she ground, "when I broke containment and got your useless cum catching ass out of a cage. Now, fall in, or baby sit the rest of those thudfucks."

"Fuck you Shepard! I'm the ranking-"

The marine didn't get a chance to finish, Jane had her on the ground, fingers clenched around her airway, pistol in her ear. "This isn't a discussion Ensign. Fall in, or fall out."

"Shep," Young interrupted, "if y'all're done tit swinging, I can breach the hatch."

Jane glared hard down at the other Woman, daring her to keep bitching. "Standard module sweep. Hollister," she pressed her hand and weapon harder for emphasis, "line your girls up. I'll take the short straw. Young," she turned to look at the Engineer, "unless the hatch's gonna fall on us, you sweat it in a blind until I kiss the breach."

"Aye-aye, commander," she nodded.

No one else moved, no one breathed. Jane had her Engi on her side, but the rest were the mouthpiece's squad, and they'd put her down if Hollister ordered them to. But it wasn't a stand off. Her backup was to put a round in the other Girl's bicep, or thigh, back off; then force the rest of the squad to follow her orders.

Jane's muscles tensed, ready to carry through, but Hollister broke the tension.

"You heard her."

"Ma'am?" Shepard could feel the Biotic's hand aimed at the back of her head.

"Fuck Luce, I knew you had lead in your ass, but do you have shit in your brains too!?"

"Yes ma'am."

Hollister and Jane didn't move as the rest of the team picked through weapons and armour, they just remained dead still, trying to stare holes into each other's eyes.

"If we live through this," Hollister breathed, "I'm making it my mission to see you in front of a disciplinary board."

Jane couldn't help it, she laughed as she stood to wait for the others to take position. "Eat me, dick warmer. The day I give a shit what brass thinks about me, is the day The Iron Bitch puts her boot on my neck and a round in my brain."

"Christ Shep," Young snorted, "I'd buy tickets t'see the Admiral waste you."

"Whatever." The only thing that'd make her Grandmother actually want to shoot her, is if she didn't even try to save these people. "Let's get this shit show on the road."

"I'm on hard right," Hollister ordered. "Bancroft, hard left. Granger, far right. Cohen, far left."

Jane noted the faces of the women as they lined up on either side of the door, they all called ready; then she gave the order. "Breach." The hatch slid open, and she could see clean through to the other module's entrance, so she stepped back, signalling the rest to rush.

Hollister ran in from her left, Bancroft to her right, Granger one step behind Bancroft; then when Cohen sprinted, Shepard went through, putting her back to the wall beside the hatch. They all called clear in the order they'd entered, signalling Young to come in, take the console, seal the door, and start working on their next breach. They lined up again, called ready; then waited for Young.

Seconds passed like minutes, and Jane's anxiety boiled into her throat. Every delay they faced gave the slavers time to line up to neutralize them, but their breach went off perfectly, and there was no way a bunch of asshole mercs had better training than them. This would work. It had to work.

"Ready," Young finally called.

"Breach."

The hatch slid open, but unlike the last time, a batarian stood in her sights. She opened fire, Hollister and Bancroft leaning in to give support. He went down in a few seconds. Jane stepped back, and the whole process repeated, ending with the same anxiety gnawing.

"We gatta problem Shep."

Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, hell. "What is it."

Young hesitated a moment. "They're let'n us through. They're bowin' us up, but they're let'n us through."

"Abort," Hollister began to move.

"No." Jane tightened her stand. "Wait it out in a blind if you think you can't cut it. Ready."

Young called ready, followed immediately by Cohen. Half a beat later Granger called, but Bancroft waited a few more breaths before committing.

"You're going to get us all killed." Hollister went back into position. "Ready."

"Breach."

The next room had three targets, but the team put them down easily. The next had two, and they were just as unaware as the rest. Fuck, the team *was* being set up. They were going to depressurize the section or some other fucking non-counterable shit, and they weren't even telling their own people.

"Young, are you sure they're letting you open the hatches."

"As sure as my Gra'ma has tits."

"We have to back off." Jane was really getting tired of Hollister's crap.

"And suffocate when they vent us out?"

"We can take over the computer remotely."

"Nah way," Young interrupted. "The modules are daisy'd. I could be limp fuckin' a gussied up sow an' I'd never get a lick."

"Is she even speaking English?" Cohen took her mark despite the unknowns.

"Stow it," Jane barked, "we keep going until we take the ship, or they kill us." She took her mark.

"With you in command we're all going to end up dead."

Jane didn't have a chance to reply to Hollister's relentless questionings, as the hatch suddenly slid open and a biotic pull yanked her forward. Cohen opened fire, but she was the only one covering the door, and it did nothing to stop the huge asari Matron from clothes-lining Shepard before the hatch sealed again.

Lying on her back, weapons kicked into a corner, and her throat throbbing, she looked up at the grinning Matron.

"Hello little one, I've been waiting for you."

The Blue Bitch was creepy as hell, and Jane really didn't want to do this alone. Or unarmed. Or at all.

She rolled over, popped back up onto her feet, and put some space between them. "Can we get this over with? I got shit to do."

"My my, you have spirit sweet one," The asari giggled, as she continued smiling in a coy kind of way that would've been charming, if it didn't also make the pit of Jane's stomach fall out. "But we do have time to play a little." She brightened. "And I so love playing with little ones."

Oh fuck no, that did not mean what Jane thought it did. No fucking way. But the burning anxiety shifted into a blazing fear as the Matron openly examined her half naked body.

"Yes, you will be a fine replacement."

Replacement? Jane made a break for her weapons, but got a biotic throw to her side for the attempt.

"With your hands Little One. Such desperateness is always more pleasant with your hands."

Jane backed away, her heart picking up pace. Then she watched as the asari stripped off the top of her leathers in one fluid motion, exposing the biggest biceps she'd ever seen on any feminine member of a species.

She surged forward, slamming her fist into the Matron's neck, but the asari quickly countered by grabbing her hair and the bottom of her armour, and ramming her head into the wall.

Dazed, it took Jane a moment to register that the Merc's body had followed the impact, sandwiching her against the asari and the hull.

"You see," the Matron whispered into Shepard's temple, causing a sick chill to claw down her skin. "Was that not much more fun than using some ugly weapon?" She seemed to be waiting for an answer, but when none came, she continued. "I am Ir'sada."

"Shepard." Jane ignored the feeling of the asari's hand caressing its way up to her breast, gathered her strength, pushed herself off the wall, and elbowed the sick bitch in the face.

But again the Matron coaxed the impact, guiding their fall until Jane was pinned under her weight. And she really had no idea that asari could be so heavy. It was like fighting a muscle bound male soldier rather than the typically dainty blue sudo-women.

Ir'sada pressed her armoured thigh into Jane's middle, making her want to wretch, but when the Matron's eyes turned black, Shepard went into a blind panic. She struggled with every ounce of her strength, throwing her shoulders and legs in every direction, using her head as a pivot to try to wiggle away...

...Turning away from her sabotage on the door lock, Jane smirked at her friend, trying desperately to look cooler then she felt. She couldn't remember exactly how they got to this point, how they went from friends who hung out in the ship's crawlspaces, to practically negotiating losing their virginity to one another. But it'd happened. And now she wanted to back out. She just wasn't ready.

But sex was like anything else, like your first kill. Bastard hard the first time, but easier with each new experience...

...Jane hadn't had a whole lot of practice kissing, but she knew enough to know that this one was awkward as hell. She had no idea what to do with her hands, so she did nothing. No idea how to breathe, so she just didn't.

But her friend wasn't doing any better, she was just as cold still, like they were a statue in some park somewhere, only representing the idea of kissing. God why weren't either of them backing out...

...Oh god, the moment was coming. It'd taken them forever to get there, fumbling in almost complete ignorance, desperately trying anything to get each other off. They'd quit several times, only to start over again, only to give into the gnawing need that felt nothing like hunger. Why did people call it a hunger.

She licked and lipped at her friend's hand like it was the only thing preventing her death, while her friend bit and sucked at her neck so hard it felt like her skin was going to shred. Dark white blue lights danced behind her tightly shut eyes. Her head swam from hyperventilation. Everything felt swollen. Everything tingled...

...The Slaver Bitch was laughing, giddy and high. Giggling with the utter delight of stealing a memory from Jane that'd never, ever feel the same again.

Pushing the enormous Matron off, Shepard rolled then belly crawled as far away from her as possible. She felt a little confused, somewhat unaware of where exactly she was, or how old she was supposed to be, or what she was doing. She tried to force her thoughts back into order, tried to remind herself that her first lover was not blue, and tried to question herself as to why she wasn't immediately going for her weapons now an opportunity had arose.

"By the goddess." The Matron picked herself up off the floor. "Such wonderful contrasts. Such duality of spirit."

"I'm a twin," The words were out of her mouth before she could even think them. "And I killed my brother in the womb so I'd have a better chance at survival."

"Such magnificent darkness little one."

Jane almost fell over, disorientation spreading through her mind like a virus. The first person she'd ever been with was not asari, it was not Ir'sada. She was human, another Phoenix. But she couldn't remember her face anymore. Or her name.

"Would you like to come with me little one?" Ir'sada squatted down in front of her, her smile still creepy as fuck. "You would be free of your mother. Free to paint and write music." The Matron caressed a hand over her cheek. "Have you not always wished to be an artist, and not a fighter? Would you not rather us to be as we once were? Together as we were on the Creche?"

Shepard could feel the asari's mind at the back of her thoughts, pushing them to line up with her desires.

"I'm Jane Shepard, and I swear my allegiance to humanity."

"Shhhh, simply relax, my little one."

...Ir'sada practically jumped into the seat across from Jane with a total lack of grace. "Hey Shep? Jus' me? Or'a this tater mash taste like freeze dry'd waste reclaim?"...

The pain spread over her temples, pierced her eyes. "To the Systems Alliance."

...Jane stared up adoringly into her Mistress' eyes. She felt beyond privileged that such a powerful being would choose a pre-maiden such as herself. She took the most satisfying joy aiding her in dressing...

"You love me little one. Do you not?"

..."God damn it Ir'sada." Jane held back from almost pushing her girlfriend off the water processor. "I love you, but damn it, I just want to shoot you."...

Her muscles tensed and relaxed all at once. "To the Phoenix."

...Her Mistress preferred her leathers tight, her guns slung low and loose, and her hands unadorned...

"I was wrong to push you away."

..."Shep," Ir'sada breathed, "you diddle like a three tit whore. But," she looked into Jane's eyes, "y'ah carry on like you hate yourself, like you ain't never gonna amount to nothin'. But there ain't no one out there can even come close to y'ah. I jus' can't watch Shep."...

She felt like the oxygen was being sucked from the room. "And that I will observe and obey all orders."

...She accepted the sweet kiss her Mistress gifted to her; then dutifully fetched her weapons...

"Come with me. I promise everything will be better."

..."Hey," Jane shouted, "Engi. You on this mission?"

"Sure fixin' to look that way," Ir'sada spun her pistol around her finger before tipping it into its holster. Just like Jane'd taught her...

...She hung the Mistress' pistol on her leg...

..."You shoot some willy varmint down there, didn' y'ah?" Ir'sada smirked...

...Seated her rifle to her back...

..."It was a cow, and shut up."...

...Slid her knife into her boot...

"And faithfully defend the dignity of all life."

"Are you my little one Shep?"

Jane grabbed the blade from the Matron's boot and drove it hard up under her cheek bone, pushed her backward onto the ground; then drove it into her eye socket.

"Shepard," Hollister rushed into the section.

Gripped the hilt with both hands, and thrust it as hard as she could in between the asari's crests.

"Shep! She dead!"

Jane looked up into a face she didn't recognize, that was as alien as any strangers.

"Look at her eyes Yvonne." Granger, she remembered Granger. "All her veins are popped."

"Shep, y'okay?"

"What's your name?"

Bright lights suddenly pierced her closed eyes as intense pain slammed into her body. Her heart pounded, her head swam. She felt restrained. Confused. Had the Slaver Bitch survived, was the memory of sinking a blade into her skull false.

Struggling, Shepard tried to force her way out of her bonds, felt around her face to find what was holding her head in place.

"Commander Shepard," a familiar male voice spoke from somewhere above. "You need to stop. Your skull is open, and if you touch yourself, you will contaminate yourself."

"Then why the hell am I conscious asshole!" she yelled back. "I don't have to be awake for you fuckers to vivisect me."

"You're in a medical camp, you stopped the reapers, and Operative Lawson is on her way."

Shepard couldn't help but feel smug, and idly wondered if she'd kept her half hour promise to Samara. "Where's the Normandy?"

"I'm not sure Commander, I haven't exactly been able to get updates."

Jackass. She was strapped to a table phasing in and out, he could at least tell her if her crew survived. "Get them mister."

"I'll get right on it ma'am." The bastard dripped with sarcasm.

"And I need to know the status of Justicar Samara, top priority."

Shepard could barely see her own hands in front of her face, everything was beyond blurry, but she *could* see that her ring looked way too wide. She was wearing someone else's, but couldn't read their name.

"Who's Phoenix division ring am I wearing?"

Silence oozed from the light. They were hiding something, Shepard would bet their lives on it.

"Lieutenant Hollister has been ejected from the suite Commander."

Hollister? Lieutenant!? "Yvonne Hollister?"

"Senior Lieutenant Janet Hollister, medical core."

Hollister's sister gave Shepard her ring, and she was dreaming about the day they'd met. What the hell was happening to her head.


	4. Mise en Abyme

**Summary:** Siano had taught the asari that an unexamined life was not worth living. If she had known the centuries of a Justicar's however, she would have called the opposite a living hell.

** This chapter was formally chapter 3.

**Chapter notes:** I was stuck trying to continue this story, but, thanks to my beta Nikki, the idea of switching around chapter 3 and 4, and the new flow I found, I think I can move forward.

Shepard's Glissando  
Chapter 4: Mise en Abyme

As Shepard would say, the Eclipse were scum, and Samara had always found it enjoyable ending them. They were killers and drug peddlers, and yes, she herself had found both enjoyable in her youth, but Eclipse did not limit their slaughter to one another, or to the varied and wide spread merc bands of the galaxy. They killed innocents, and the drugs they sold, served no purpose but to addict the vulnerable, and to line their own pockets with credits. They were wicked, worthy of death, and she had not needed to be a Justicar to spur her into smiting them. When she was a merc, she had done so gladly, revelling in the glory of the righteous battling the wicked. She had celebrated their deaths, mated with her companions, and repeated the whole process another day, all while praising past such accomplishments.

She could easily justify killing Eclipse, but she could no longer justify ending the lives of the parents of an Ardat-Yakshi. Parents, who were simply trying to protect their child.

That child had done nothing wrong, and only sat quietly on the couch in her home while Samara demanded her parents turn her over. The pre-maiden's father had blocked the then Justicar's way, refusing to give up her daughter. Samara had tried to push past, genuinely believing the parents to be misguided, but the Matron had pushed back, and the Code dictated that she use ever increasing levels of force. Quickly the Code demanded that she throw the first blow, even though the parent had done nothing to harm her. Soon after, the mother became involved. The young asari only cried, as Samara beat her parents to death. She never made a move, she sat obediently, and waited for the horror to be done.

The well trained and seasoned Justicar had dispatched them quickly, and any disquiet emotions she had felt at the time, were calmed by the knowledge that she had done the goddess' good work. Then, she had callously stepped over their bodies, and took the Ardat-Yakshi into custody, but even the hand of the goddess did not stop her heart from going out to the child. She had tried to sooth and calm her, told her of her own daughters, and of their fulfilling lives at the monastery. Samara had stayed with her when they had reached the medical centre, gently put her to bed, and assured her that all would be well. She had not apologized for taking her parents from her, at the time, for Samara, the crime of protecting their daughter, and attacking a Justicar, invited death.

However, there had been a small measure of hope in Samara's heart. She had hopes that the young asari would meet her daughters, that they would guide her, and nurture her, and set her on the path of peace, but those hopes had died in the sharp light of the morning sun.

During the night, the child had shredded part of her dress into strips, secured one end to the beam of a book shelf, the other around her neck, and sat down. Her bottom had hovered mere centimetres off the ground, and had she placed her palms on the floor, she could have supported her weight, or she could have easily turned onto her side to slip a supporting knee under herself, but the young maiden, had not. Instead she had committed herself to her own agonizing death, to strangling the life out of her own neck, all while resisting the desperate, clawing urge to save herself.

Despite her final moments of what must have been shear torment, Samara had found her otherwise unmarked, dangling by a thick woven cord of beautiful wheat coloured fabric, legs stretched out before her, hands folded passively in her lap, body half naked, and bathed in the deeply contrasting shadows of early dawn. Her once pleasant cobalt skin, had turned a nearly blood coloured violet, and made her already midnight dark facial markings, all the more striking. Samara had thought the heartbreaking image would have made the most beautiful of macabre art, if it had not also been so appallingly real.

No, she could no longer justify the Child's death, nor the death of her parents. Not to herself, not to the other Justicars, and certainly not to Shepard. She had taken their lives in the name of a prothean wearing an ancient name as a mask, and she could not escape the realization that she, Samara Ranear, not the Code Warrior of legend, had murdered them, her soul forever stained in the rich purple of their blood.

She had nothing to distract her mind from these thoughts, nothing to prevent them from taking hold and drowning her heart, but she did not wish them gone. She deserved the minor torment, she deserved so much worse, and she quietly wished that Mirala had taken one of her hundreds of opportunities to bring her death. Perhaps if she had a small measure of honour, the Reapers would have gifted her with the kindness of the Goddess' embrace.

The Goddess. She needed to remind herself repeatedly that it was a lie. She had not truly believed before becoming a Justicar, but her training had conditioned her to it, and breaking herself of such blind faith was beyond difficult, and with the deity's approval gone, it made Samara's prior actions in her name, evil.

Her mind simply could not accept this, could not accept her own wickedness, could not accept that a lifetime of what she thought were selfless acts, had been made as an agent of malevolence, and she could not accept that a being such as Jane Shepard, would not want far better than the shattered soul Samara had become.

The Saviour of the galaxy was deserving of more than a former mercenary and biotic thug, of a mother who allowed her children to die, of a warrior no longer able to justify her actions. She was deserving of a being whom had believed in her from the onset, supported and rallied behind her without waiver, and gave to her unconditional loyalty. She was deserving of a being like Liara T'Soni. Liara was the one truly worthy of Shepard's affections, not Samara, but Shepard had chosen her, the contemptible, the violence addicted. The coward.

Samara could not weep. She wished to, begged herself to, but she could not. She had killed her emotions long ago, and buried them under a mountain of dictates. She simply could not bring her unworthy self to shed a single tear for her atrocities, nor could she shed them as the only being in existence she could ever consider giving herself to, was dieing, and in terrible pain.

"Doctor Allcome to surgical suite 6. Allcome, surgical 6."

She tilted her head slightly at hearing the strange name being called to the Spectre's room, and latched onto the minor distraction. The name sounded peculiar, and she suspected that the translator was not doing a very good job at deciphering it into asari standard, but really, very few human names did. Most sounded more like vocational descriptions then actual names. Normally, such strangeness would be of little interest to the former Justicar, except, that standing silent vigil outside that particular room, and awaiting news on the Woman's condition, left her with nothing to distract her self recriminating mind.

The miniscule diversion lasted a bare fraction of a second, before her thoughts attacked her once again, and she found herself wishing to return to that terrible day, and a chance to alter the course of her then future. If she could, she would raid the medical facility housing her daughters, kill the Justicar and Commandos holding them, and flee to Omega. There, the Warlord would have surely accepted Samara as an enforcer, and given her children a safe haven, but that wish would never come to be. On that day, Samara had done her civic duty, and handed her daughters over to the government, dooming them to a life of constant fear.

Heavy slaps of shoes pulled her mind once more from its slow shredding of her heart. Three humans in white coats over military dress were coming charging down the hall, each holding a hardened look of determination. They rounded the corner of the alcove to the door to Shepard's room, which opened automatically for them, but Samara was unprepared for what she heard when it did.

Shepard's tortured wails of agony, swearing, and begging for death, echoing into the halls.

"Cerebral implant's failing," a male shouted, further jolting the former Justicar.

"Shit," another male replied, "we're loosing her!"

The Spectre's cries of pain suddenly stopped.

"Direct Cardiac stimulation, now!"

The door closed, sealing away any further sound, and she still could not weep, could not silently plead for her loved one to be healed, could not fret and agonize over her pain. She would never be worthy of Shepard's heart.

The Huntress who had been standing with her, and who she still did not know the name of, spoke for the first time since the beginning of their vigil.

"Excuse me Justicar."

Samara nodded, giving her permission to do whatever it is she wished. To her mild surprise, the Maiden activated her comm, instead of making some unnecessary comment on the Woman's condition.

"Huntress Illani, Serrice third Guard responding."

She ignored the now named Huntress in favour of staring at Shepard's door, and letting her poisoning thoughts drown out the world around her.

A terrible victory, that was what the galaxy had won. A victory paid for by an endless sea of dead and dieing, and of wounds so deep, they would never be seen, but would forever be felt. The victory had also been a hollow one. They had not triumphed with superior strategy, or unbreakable spirit, nor had they won their lives through hard fought attrition. No, they were saved by a single grand act, carried out by a single grand being, and now, that grand being was dieing.

She had often heard the human phrase, no good deed goes unpunished, and for the Woman on the other side of the door, that sentiment could not be more true. Samara had never, and will never be punished for her deeds, and their was no doubt in her mind that she deserved to be, and yet, Shepard was sentenced to a never ending cycle of forgetting her own triumph, and of reliving the revelation that she was dieing. Life was so very rarely fair, but on that day, it was far more malicious than usual.

"Justicar," the Huntress' words barely penetrated, "our medical camp is under attack."

A task. A distraction. Some usefulness Samara could cling to. The prospect raised her posture from its ever so slight slump.

"By whom?" she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful in the shadow of someone else's discomfort.

"Reaper ground forces ma'am."

The words stun her for a moment. The reapers were dead, Shepard killed them, she had watched their ships topple, and their abominations disintegrate. It could not have been in vain. The reapers must be gone. Shepard could not be dieing for nothing. Fate could not be so cruel as to leave Samara alive in the wake of two such immense losses.

The Huntress watched the Justicar's face twist into blatant confusion. "Some of the reaper ground forces have survived," she offered, "but they attack without reason or direction, and they flail themselves at everything living or not. That is Justicar, all but the banshee. They attack in groups, and seek us out, while ignoring anything further then a few tens of meters away."

"I see," Samara replied, and she truly did. For their crimes, for their lies, and for their treatment of the poor transformed souls, their mutated kin sought them out to spit their final breath at them.

Another human rounded the corner, pushing a large piece of equipment in front of him, and the door dutifully opened once again, and once again, it let Shepard's screaming torment flood out.

"FUCK! Fucking let me die! I can't take it! I can't!"

"You haven't been dismissed yet Commander," a male voice replied.

"God damn it," she sobbed, "fuck you, you life worshipping fuck. I can die if I fucking want to."

"You need to hold on Commander."

"Where the fuck's Lawson, and fucking T'Soni."

The closing door deadened the Doctor's response, and bathed the corridor in sickening silence.

Samara could not stay. She could not stand vigil listening to the Woman's anguish.

No, she should be there every time Shepard awoke to tell her what had occurred. The hero of all life had had her memory taken from away, and as her most wanted friend, her heart's desire, it fell to the former Justicar to fill in the missing pieces.

She could not endure it. The six centuries since running away from home to join a maidens' expedition, did precious little to dissuade her from her emotional cowardice. She continued to hide her soul behind indifference, behind battle lust, and continued fleeing from any conflict that required true courage, courage of the heart.

She gave into the easier choice, abandoned her feeble attempts at deluding herself into believing that she could make any other, crushed down her heart's voice of objection, pushed her emotions to the furthest reaches of her mind, and turned to the other Asari.

"Come Huntress," she commanded with a confidence she did not truly feel, "we must defend our sisters."

The younger Asari nodded, but spoke her concern anyway, "if you wish to stay with the Commander, I am certain our forces can handle our burden."

Our burden. Our Ardat-Yakshi. Our terrible sisters.

Samara said nothing, only headed for the outer door, but the universe would not allow her to leave with the shred of dignity she pretended to cling to, and Shepard's door open before she could make her escape.

This time, the Woman was confused, and disoriented, and her voice was filled with pain. "Where's the Normandy?"

"I'm not sure Commander," the same doctor as before replied, "I haven't exactly been able to get updates."

"Get them mister." Even craggy and horse, Shepard spoke with command.

"I'll get right on it ma'am."

"And I need to know the status of Justicar Samara, top priority."

Samara did not flinch, did not hesitate as she pushed open the outer door, and stepped into the thick, heavy air of Earth's scarred atmosphere. She had sold her soul long ago when she joined The Order of The Justicars. Continuing to delude herself now into believing that she was anything more than a killer, was beyond a fallacy.

The Huntress was trying hard, but failing to hide her disbelieving glances, and Samara thought it best for the Huntress to see her in this manner. If she, and the masses as a whole, could witness how truly callous and uncaring the Justicars truly were, if they saw them as little more than organic killing machines, little more than reapers themselves, then perhaps the asari people would do away with them. Perhaps she and her sisters would decide to do the honourable thing, and end their own lives so that the galaxy would never again be haunted by their presence.

Samara's mood was somewhat a match to Earth's current condition. The impact of the Crucible had thrown a veil of dust over the metropolis, and tore a two and a half kilometre hole into its face. She had yet to see the devastation for herself, but from what she knew of celestially caused craters, it would be horrific. Even from the ten kilometres away that they were, she could easily see the scatterings of enormous chunks of building and earth that had been thrown from the blast site. The cloud of dust extended further still, and expanded more so by the second, blocking out what little of Sol's light that could penetrate the already present scars left by the reapers.

Ahead of them, the destruction continued. The grounds of where the humans housed their medical facility was mostly intact, say for the occasional piece of wreckage and blast crater, but beyond, to the street, what were once houses and living complexes, now lay mountains of rubble and twisted metal. Some structures did remain standing, and she suspected they were now the sole shelters for survivors, but those were few and far between. Directly across from the exit lay a long building, from the many separate steps leading up to it, she suspected it was meant to hold several families. At the moment however, it was a bombed out shell with holes in its walls and a missing roof.

The first horror of their trek was left behind quickly as they journeyed north, but all too soon, they were passing a new one. Rows of buildings which could be nothing else but homes for families. Homes, that if only slightly differently shaped, and coloured, could easily be mistaken for ones on Thessia.

The entirety of the street was in poor condition, with only one of the seven houses remaining intact. Worse however, was the condition of the decorative trees keeping sentinel on the properties. Though mostly untouched by direct damage, their branches hung as if they were partially melted. Their once green leaves, black and riddled with holes, and all round them, some substance she suspected was once grass, now looking more like oil covered mould.

"Justicar..."

Samara knew what Illani's question would be, knew what soul wrenching thought would befill her mind, and she dreaded hearing it voiced, dreaded hearing the comparison.

"Do you think Thessia looks like this?"

She did not wish to think of it. Her last memory of their homeworld was a pleasant one, and she did not want it tainted by thoughts of her favoured park in ruins, or the family home she had left behind destroyed, but she forced herself to. Looking about she could see more sickened trees, more contaminated grass, groups of wilted and dead flowers, and a child's play structure in pieces.

Rila had once loved to jump from the top of a similar one near their home, scaring Samara into catching her with hands or Biotics. It was. It had been, a daughter's test. An attempt to reaffirm the certainty that her mother would always be their. Or perhaps a challenge to her parent to prove that no matter how stupid her actions, mother would always be there to catch her. Yet, Samara had allowed her otherwise cautious and level headed middle child to fall, the monsters she had always promised didn't exist, clawing at her mind.

"I suspect our homeworld is as injured as the human's," she answered with as flat, and as dead a voice as possible.

Mercifully, the Huntress continued for a time in silence, but the brisk pace Samara demanded they keep, was made all the more difficult by the sticky dust clinging to their skin and lungs. She could order that they put their breathers on, and give them both some manner of reprieve, but she knew the filters would become hopelessly clogged within a few minutes. At least in their healthy lungs, they could cough the vile slurry out, and save the devices for ones less capable, but it made her body tire more quickly then usual.

The wrecked landscape and obscured view was not helping their progress either. Sight was limited to a few tens of meters in any direction, each step revealing only a fraction of the possible hidden dangers, and caused their path to meander through the Human's oddly patch-worked community. Minutes ago, they had been at the medical encampment, housed in a school of some prestige. They passed homes one could describe as being owned by the elite of their society; now, with little transition, there were passing an enormous cemetery directly attached to the park.

Illani couldn't help but stare in morbid fascination. A seemingly endless field set aside to hold the deceased, but it too had not escaped damage. Shuttles from every species, pieces of equipment, and of course, the newly departed, littered the rows of name-stones. It was. She wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it was unnerving, and begged a very important question.

"What will they do now with all their dead?"

Samara did not need to contemplate such a thing, she already knew quite well what was best at times like these.

"If they are intelligent," the former Justicar tore her eyes away from a fallen soldier wearing the type of armour Shepard favoured, "they will incinerate the bodies, or they risk the spread of disease."

"It's such a waste."

Anger flared in Samara's chest, but she kept her voice even, "not a single one of these lives is a waste Maiden. They died protecting their homeworld, and by extension, ours. They surrendered their futures for others, and we must honour their gift." It could have so easily been Shepard.

"I only meant that it's disheartening to see so many lives taken," Illani persisted.

"If more had listened to Shepard sooner, it may not have needed to come to this."

"It's not as if she helped her case Justicar. Did she not threaten to space the Council."

Lungs heavy and tight, skin burning yet numb, and hands still twinged with pain from biotics, Samara snapped, and spoke to another being in a manner she had not for over three centuries.

"Be silent!"

The Huntress looked down at the dangerous Asari's hand, assuring herself that she wasn't reaching for a weapon, or charging her biotics. Agreeing to remain with the temperamental Justicar was proving more and more to be a bad decision. She'd only wished to show her gratitude, to repay part of her debt to the saviours of the galaxy, but perhaps the old saying was true. Leave the divine to tend the goddesses.

Despite wisely remaining quiet, the Maiden's words gnawed at Samara's thoughts. "Councillor Tevos was amongst those who Spectre Shepard threatened when her warnings fell on the deaf, and you may not be aware, but the Councillor was fully informed of the coming darkness, and knew where Shepard could find the means to defend us, yet she remained complacent for two years."

Illani took a deep breath and did as her Mistress had instructed, even if she was endangering her life. "I'm not sure how you can accuse one of our most respected leaders of such a thing."

Samara grabbed the Maidens arm and ruffly pulled her eyes to bare. "The Temple of Athame hid an intact prothean archive, complete with plans to construct the Crucible, and the sum of their knowledge of the reapers."

The Huntress shook her head, "that's impossible Justicar, it would have been known."

She threw the other Asari's arm away, "go to Tykis, see for yourself," and continued to walk on.

"I refuse to believe this. It would mean we allowed those people back there to die."

"I suspect when it becomes known, all the galaxy will be awaiting their turn to punish us for it."

Illani stood shocked and rooted in the endless flotsam of dull multicoloured debris. Had her Mistress known this? Had she been complacent as well? If Tevos had been, surely her Liege would have known, surely she would have hinted.

"You must do something Justicar," she pleaded. Goddess, the other species will make them envy what they did to the quarians.

Samara continued walking, completely dismissing the absurd request. She was a Justicar. *Had* been a Justicar, she did not preform miracles, and in any case, they deserved what was coming to them.

"You and the Maiden T'Soni can speak to Shepard," Illani persisted, feeling a panic rise, "she'll listen to you both, you are her friends."

The words made Samara pause. Shepard would listen. Goddess, she did not even need to ask it, Shepard would automatically protect the asari. If their abuse begun at that very moment, the Saviour would struggle out of her death bed, drag herself to the nearest ship, and defend them all with her last few hours.

"She would not need to be pleaded with Maiden." She turned on the Huntress, her eyes reflecting the growing death of her heart. "However, in a few hours, Shepard will be nothing more than a legend."

"The universe is not so cruel as to take the saviour of the galaxy at the dawn of her triumph."

"Such sentiment is for children. Good does not always defeat evil, and the hero rarely enjoys her victories."

Devastated, Illani took a step back, almost tripping over the charred remains of some poor soul's pet. This wasn't what the vids made being a commando look like. She herself was supposed to be a hero, she was to be on the cover of Maiden Warriors, not standing on a near dead world, playing escort and being lectured in hopelessness by a Justicar she considered a role model.

For some unfathomable reason, the Maiden's disillusion made Samara feel infinitely better. A monstrous spite had grown within her, and now it was rearing its ugly face.

"Soon, we will all know the true taste of defeat," she bared her beast's hideous teeth, "and we will come to realize that our way of life is over; then, sooner than any of us thought possible, the predators will come to chew on the corpse of our societies."

A few tears escaped the corners of Illani's eyes.

"The pirates and criminals will take what little we have left. Our people will be relegated to the pathetic. Our great spires will remain in pieces, scatted over our poisoned soil. We will become the nothings we have made ourselves deserving of. Nothing of what was will remain, and we will contemplate suffocating our daughters, lest they be forced to sell themselves into slavery for the pitiable right to simply exist."

"You're supposed to be a Justicar."

"I am a Justicar Maiden," Samara spat, "I am slave to the Code that labels us as wicked, that sentences every one of our Matriarchs to death, and that dictates that Shepard must die if she survives her injuries."

Illani's eyes grew wide, "what?"

For three centuries Samara had been able to control her anger, yet now, she is reduced to the Maiden who could scarcely control herself.

"We do not have the luxury of time, we best defend our wounded now." she turned back toward their destination, and continued down the broken road.

"You would kill the Commander?"

The lost, almost timid tone to the Maiden's voice, nearly made the older Asari ill. This was to be her and Shepard's future, unbidden adoration until those who hold such feelings, learned who they truly were, but she could never kill Shepard, even if she had not turned from the twisted morals of the Justicar. The Woman was simply too precious.

"No," Samara replied despite her seeming thirst to shred this young Huntress' preconceptions.

Illani allowed herself to relax a little, she wouldn't need to go against her Mistress' request, or end the life of an asari she once admired.

A several meter high mass of rust coloured rubble greeted Samara as she rounded a collection of mostly intact shops. Unlike the crushed homes behind her, this place was large, stretching out to her left for some distance before the pile turned brown. It could be nothing else but an apartment building, and it wreaked. Goddess she thought she had smelled the worst the universe had to offer, this however...

She could not bare to finish the thought. Somewhat because of the horror of it, somewhat because of the stench clawing its way down her throat. A ship full of floating corpses could not match this awful, nor could she simply vent them out the air lock. These poor souls were entangled with the remains of their homes, their pets and their pantries. They may have died in the first few minutes of the invasion, perhaps even in their sleep as a reaper landed on their roofs. If it had been their fate to die without ever knowing the horrors that visited their world and their loved ones, she counted them as fortunate.

"Justicar?"

Samara was beginning to suspect that the Huntress was far less experienced than she first had thought, but unlike before, she was not going to allow this question to be asked.

"Be still Maiden, this is troubling enough without being forced to think of it."

"Yes ma'am," Illani replied tersely. This Justicar was beginning to grate on her nerves. Why did her Mistress and Shepard give a Goddess damn about this shell of a being.

Breathing the most miniscule sigh of relief, Samara was thankful that the cruel and meaningless universe had given her this one kindness. She truly wished the Maiden would leave her to her self torment, and stop trying to engage her.

"You were correct Justicar," Illani broke the silence when they made it to a clearing, "none of us will recover from this. At least not in any of our lifetimes."

Samara did not respond. It was unfortunately, a harsh truth. Those who made their lives in space, or those who called small colony worlds home, would see their lives returned to them sooner rather than later, but planets like Earth and Thessia...

She breathed the remainder of the thought away. Going home to help with rebuilding would be the only right thing to do, but she would never. She simply could not see her home in this state, and if this world had been Shepard's, she might have found being here equally hard, but the Woman was space-born, and her birth place was intact, floating serenely in orbit as Samara walked the devastation below.

That is where she would go, to space, even if it was without Shepard. To hold vigil over the vulnerable, to fight back the predators when they turn up. It is what the Woman would do.

An unmistakable and shrilling sound echoed through the air ahead of them.

It was a banshee's scream, and they were close. From the volume, they had to be. It had been nearly an hour since leaving the human encampment, and their own hospital, still more than a few hundred meters to the north east. She could not hear gun fire either, which boded poorly for them. It meant they may be forced to face a number of their stricken sisters alone.

They followed the cries in silence, stalking a prey that would turn on them at a moments notice, but soon she and the Huntress found themselves blocked by a two meter high wall, with a meter high wire metal fence atop it. The banshee were on the other side, she could feel it. She could sense them moving, sense their biotics, and their ever present distance meld.

"We must find a bridge or tunnel."

The Maiden appeared to be well versed in stating that which was obvious, but the thought died when Samara heard a panicked voice from somewhere on the other side.

"Move dull stones! Or I'll let that thing find how empty your skulls are!"

Samara reacted. She threw a singularity to the top of the wall, lowered her mass with a weaker field around her body, took a running jump into the pulsing energy, and surrounded herself in a stasis field at the last moment.

The world pitched and swung wildly around as she flew threw the air. Her vision blurred into a mass of indistinguishable muted colours, and streaks of undefined objects. She tried to pick out a place to allow herself to fall, but suddenly she was pulled toward the ground by another powerful field. Within a second she found herself laying in mud, her eyes locked on a Matron Vanguard.

"Whoever the fuck you are, you're crazier than a shit-house memau."

On top of the Asari's already naturally marked face, she sported several sharp tattoos of flat black over her jaw and her vestigial throat flares. Samara had to admit that it was striking, even if it also marked her as a gang sister.

"You three, down behind the wall of bushes," the Vanguard pointed.

"Justicar Samara," her stasis field was finally waring off.

"Do you think I give a flying pyjak fuck who you are."

"She's Captain Taksor Justicar," a much younger Matron spoke up from behind the first, "and I'm third Commando Jeiss, cruiser Hand of Athame ground support."

"Did I give you permission to speak chatter bird," Taksor snapped.

"No ma'am."

"Then keep your lips together or I'll give them something to do."

Samara stood to take in the surroundings, and pointedly ignored the glare the Captain was giving her.

"Where is the rest of your team," she asked.

"Dead, where the fuck you think. Fucking head hunters' been stalking us for twenty Ks. Took three of my girls, before that I lost six to a fucking reaper."

"I see. Where is the encampment."

"You're just chalk full of fucking questions aren't you," Taksor's voice dripped with venom. "All I got is a set of coordinates, so unless you know how far a degree is on this shit hole of a planet, I got no fucking idea."

"Sixty-three hundred meters."

Tak stared unblinking at the newcomer Matron, sneering a little. "It's a hundred and fifty meters up the road."

"Where are the enemy forces," Samara continued to ignore the look the other Asari gave her.

"Still in that transport trench you just jumped over. There's a smashed power station to the south we came out at, donno how far behind they are, but there's about twenty of them." She paused, "they're not even looking at any of the other races, they're just gunning for us. The rest of the reaper varren shit are smashing themselves against everything, and I do mean everything. Fucking turian thing was laying down on a burned out transport until its rifle sinked out."

Samara stared off to the south, contemplating why their kin would be organized and capable, while the other species' reaper abominations would lose all sense of their surroundings.

"Why are they attacking us Justicar," Jeiss questioned.

"She doesn't fucking know," Taksor interjected, "do you think just because they bio-welded a strip of poly to her forehead, she's got all the answers."

"What would you do if you had been abused for centuries, turned into a monster, then loosed from all control," Samara kept her voice devoid of inflection.

"Bitch has sense, and here I thought you Justicars just wondered around measuring everything by some ancient worthless list in your empty heads."

"You are not incorrect thinking this."

The Vanguard continued to stare at the very strange Justicar, with little idea of what to think of her, until one of her lookouts interrupted.

"Captain, Shuttle, forty-five east. I think we are near the medi-camp."

The mercenary slowly turned on her commando, "what the fuck did you just hear me say. Hundred and fifty meters. Do you understand Standard, do you know what that means, it means just over there," Tak pointed, "or are you so under sexed that all the blood is sucked up by your worthless azure."

"Must you be so unpleasant," Jeiss countered her Captain.

"Yeah, I must. It's part of my charm."

"Contact," one of the, until then, silent lookouts whispered harshly.

Samara crept further down behind the debris, and peered south. She saw nothing, and turned to question the lookout, but noticed that the other Matron had disappeared.

"I dislike it when she does that," murmured Jeiss as she set up an RPG.

They remained perfectly still, and deathly quiet, waiting for something more to happen. She would have given into her desire to question the Maiden who raised the alarm, but she could see that the commando was intently tracking something through her sniper scope. Seconds ticked by with nothing, until the same lookout whispered again.

"One asari inbound, weapon drawn and under duress."

"Huntress, favouring a disciple," asked Samara.

"Heavy bruise left side."

"What is she running from."

"I would guess the banshees who were following us."

Samara then noticed that the lookout was no maiden, and no ordinary commando. She wore extremely heavy armour for an asari, and looked to be almost her own age. She was obviously well seasoned and capable.

"Babe, she's rolling one hundred," she had not seen the sniper activate a comm, but she was correct, Illani was less than one hundred metres away, and running as if her life depended on it.

"No contacts yet," Samara flinched at Taksor's voice coming through her comm.

"Who is this?"

The sniper interrupted the speaker, "clear channel, operation."

In the shrinking distance, Samara could see Illani lift her hand to her auditory membrane.

"Down!" the Huntress shouted, "primed fuel explosion."

The commandos must have been using the standard emergency frequency. An intelligent decision. It meant that every ally would know that something was happening, and plan accordingly.

Then Illani's words sunk in. What fuel had the Huntress primed, and where. Her eyes went wide, the power station.

In the same moment, a goddess of a cacophony sounded from the south, and a billow of red and yellow flashed the sky. The shock wave followed on the tail of the sound, rattling their ears. Samara raised a palm to each membrane, hoping that neither tore at the violent pressure change, but she didn't find anything immediately wrong, even though she could hardly hear.

To the left, Illani came crashing to the ground, rolled once over herself to come up on her knee with weapon drawn, and open fire.

"Goddess damn it," the Sniper shouted, "where in Kralla did they come from," and fired a shot.

A banshee was on the Huntress in the next instant, baring down on her, and gripping her in its twisted fingers.

Samara threw up the strongest sphere she could force around the Maiden, while keeping the mutated Ardat-Yakshi on the other side.

Screamed the banshee as the energy sheered off her hands, and turned toward the source of her agony, catching Samara's eyes with her own dead ones.

The contact was short lived however, as Illani blasted a shell into it's head at point blank range, shattering it into dozens of flying pieces, but what Samara had saw in that split second, could never be unseen.

Over the distance, the banshee had begun a meld, and it was beautiful, enticing beyond all sense and means. The touch was pleasant, and comforting, and welcoming, and if faced with it again, she was not convinced she could look away. She was not even convinced she would not try to reach out as well. It was a frightening prospect, and it gripped her nerves to her very core.

Most confusing of all however, was the utter lack of anger, or hostility she sensed from the creature. All she could sense was pure need and loneliness. It was truly heart breaking, but maybe that was the point. Maybe they were programed to feel that way, to seek out any comforting mind, and so do the terrible bidding of the reapers.

Samara didn't have long to think on it as Jeiss let loose an RPG. It streaked the air to impact with a flash of violent light against another banshee. As she watched the expanding gas, the former Justicar saw another partially silhouetted against the explosion, and launched a reave out at it.

A flare ignited the air above their heads, revealing four more abominations which had been hidden in the dark.

Another RPG, more flashes from a shotgun muzzle, and the streak of a biotic charge sent two more crashing to the ground. Then someone detonated her reave, she wasn't sure whom, and the sniper finished off the last.

Illani dashed behind the bushes, content to be frightened now that she no longer needed to be mindlessly brave, but Taksor was swaggering down the middle of the street, backlit by the burning power station and set aglow by the flare, arrogance and cockiness, oozing from her every step. It reminded Samara of why she disliked others viewing her in the same manner.

"You little azure faced shit," the Captain bellowed as she got into Illani's face, "you singed my sash."

Samara looked down to see that the Matron was indeed wearing a very inappropriate black silk sash around her waist.

"Tak," the Sniper was back in her lookout position, "shut up."

The Matron made a face of pure fury. "If we're not getting our faces kicked in now, then we're not going to. So move out."

Three of the commandos sprung to their feet, and started for the medical camp, but the sniper lingered.

"You look well Samara," she said as she came to rest beside Taksor.

The former Justicar tilted her head in question, "thank you."

The sniper smiled, "you don't remember me."

"I apologize, I do not."

"I believe I would be hurt, if we had seen one another in less than half a millenia."

"I am afraid I still do not know who you are."

"Aphia," the Sniper replied.

Samara still looked at the other Asari with scepticism.

"Aphia Ranear," she added, and waited for the inevitable shock.

"I see."

Aphia's lips lit into a full smile, "and I see that very little has changed."

"You do not look as you did when last I saw you."

"I was little more than a maiden at the time." Her smile grew, "but now you are on the cusp of becoming a matriarch. I suspect with so few left, you will be in high demand on Thessia."

Her cousin and Taksor were well suited to one another, two unpleasant beings, being unpleasant together.

Aphia turned to her mate, "that look means she has thought of something particularly witty, but will not share for the sake of propriety."

"You do our mother's proud."

"And you do your daughters well."

Anger flared within Samara. Anger and hate. She out right hated every member of her mother's family. Not one had a single redeemable quality, every one of them was the embodiment of all that was unpleasant. Being the better, she chose to ignore her baiting kin, and turned to walk away.

"Tell me Samara," Aphia ran to fall in step with her cousin, "did you ever manage to kill Mirala."

She ignored the noxious Matron.

"I don't suppose you could have. She did have her father's good sense, always planning and testing conceptions."

Samara refused to be drawn in by this being. Too much bad had happened in the universe today to allow the likes of her mother's kin to aggravate her.

"I did find it particularly pleasing seeing your face on news vids, slaughtering tourists on the Citadel."

She kept her breathing even, and her expression bland.

"Punishment for you failing her Samara? Did the other Justicar's harm you when they moved to contain you?"

Samara's control evaporated. "You know nothing of punishment or failure Aphia. You have had every obstacle removed for you, you have escaped blame for every wrong doing." She continued on without a loss to her pace. "Shall I guess how you have come to be here. When the rule of your mother's house became oppressive to you, you joined a gang and became a biotic thug, because that is all you are capable of. The fact that you have become adept at weapons means little, it is much the same as your blunted use of your gifts. Then at some point in your pitiable life, you came under the thumb of Aria T'Loak, who ordered you here, or gave you the choice of death as an alternative."

"Is that supposed to hurt Samara," Aphia mocked, "you did little better. Running away at less than half a century, joining a fool's expedition. Then of course your own stint as a low life. Or am I mistaken. Was that old Matron you gave your body to, not the one who kept you out of prison?"

The former Justicar turned to put herself in her cousin's path. "You will not speak ill of my mate."

"I would not dream to. She was a better asari then you will ever be."

She should have stayed with Shepard, this was her punishment. If there was no goddess, at the very least there was fate, and it was fate which thrust this loathsome being on her.

"Was it all the adventure you ever hoped for," Aphia continued, "hunting down a member of our family and killing her."

"I was spared from stopping Mirala's rampage."

"By whom."

"My mate," Samara did not flinch, but she nearly. It was not a lie, not completely. A delusion perhaps, a hope for certain, but they both had been committed to one another in some twisted way since meeting. So it was not a lie, it was an exaggeration. Goddess she was losing her mind.

"You," Aphia's voice pitched with disbelief, "a Justicar. A being who swore celibacy because it was forced on your daughters, bonded again."

"You are a vial being."

"Who."

Samara stepped around the shuttle parked in the middle of the paved lot. She should stop now, say nothing and ignore this hideous creature, but memories of one's youth die very hard, and the memories of all the elder Ranears descending upon her when her children were locked in a medical facility, never would.

"Commander Jane Shepard."

The fact that Aphia stopped dead in her tracks was worth every ounce of her sole traded for this mostly lie. Somewhat lie.

"You think she's the Justicar Aria told us not to touch," Taksor spoke up.

"Varren shit," proclaimed her cousin.

Without thinking, Samara stopped as well, pulled the folded Typhoon from her back, and shoved the stock into the others field of view.

There, scratched into the red alloy, and in asari standard script, was the word Shepard. If it had been in human, Aphia could have accused Samara of taking it, or simply not giving it back when it had been lent, but the fact that it was in standard, left no denying that it was meant for Samara. It also likely escaped the dense Matron's notice, that the word was etched in the perfect position to be nestled by her cheek when the weapon was in use.

It boiled Aphia's blood, everything the forever self righteous bitch had just accused her of, was everything Samara was guilty of. She had ran away, she had travel through forbidden systems, had become a stripper, joined a mercenary band, slaughtered her entire crew, joined a gang, got arrested, spawned offspring before she was even two hundred...

She fumed at her cousin's dead glare. The worthless being would have held title over the family for no reason other than being the eldest of the eldest had she not refused it, and because Samara had, Aphia now held it. Not that it meant anything after the bitch birthed three of the worst Ardat-Yakshi seen since leaving their home system.

The selfish azure had been tearing their house apart since the moment she could speak, and never showed a sliver of care at doing it. Aphia applauded Mirala's assassination of her character, cheered every time her name fell into the news. Then she smiled as she watched Samara turn to enter the building. Her dear cousin might have luck and favour, but Aphia had wit.

"I suppose one never looses the skill of being a well practiced whore," the Merc's smiled grew, "and I am sure the illustrious Saviour needs such servicing."

"Goddess be damned babe," laughed Taksor.

"Thank you," she grinned with triumph at her mate.

"I hope you both enjoy being disposable tools for T'Loak."

Samara had entirely forgotten about the Huntress.

"While she drinks expensive alcohols with the beings you disparage. Perhaps the Justicar could speak a word on your behalf, and allow you into the same room as them," Illani opened and held the door for the Justicar.

"My example was poor, and you should not emulate it," Samara admonished as they moved further into the building.

"Justicar, she was begging to be put in her place. I believe even her mate was uncomfortable by her display."

In the moments when she had struck back at her cousin, she had felt righteous, pleased, but in the argument's aftermath, she felt nothing but hollow.

"Why did you leave the Commander's side to come here?"

Samara tried very hard not to show her annoyance as Illani started in on her ever persistent questioning.

"Because I am unworthy of her."

"You wish her to turn her affection from you."

The thought made Samara's chest ache, "no."

"I don't understand Justicar."

"I do not know," she snapped, "much as changed these past few days. The galaxy is not as it once was, and as the tied recedes, no one will be pleased at what it sweeps away."

"Would that not be more reason to hang on to the things precious to us," Illani stated simply.

"You are young maiden. Live your life for another few centuries; then examine your question once more."

"You assume I'm a maiden."

Samara's expression became impossibly blander, "you can be no more than two hundred."

The Huntress smiled sadly, "no Justicar, I'm much older."

She watched Illani push further into the building. The impressions she felt for the Huntress did not make sense, and a strange undercurrent had been floating around them since their first meeting. It was something that felt familiar, yet equally foreign. Like a new song written while drowning in the depths of an old one. It compelled her to answer the not-Maiden's questions, to tolerate her continued and unwelcome presence. It was an intangible, a charisma, a desire to placate.

"Who are you," Samara had meant her words to be a demand, but they came out as pleading curiosity.

Illani ignored the Justicar, having grown beyond tired of her constant pulling negativity. Why had it become her concern that this shell of a being despised herself. It was of no importance to her future, it didn't affect her in the slightest.

'Watch her Illani,' her Mistress had ordered, 'keep her from harm. From the Reapers, and from herself. She's important to Shepard, so too must she be important to us.'

Damn it. Shepard. That's why Samara must concern her. That's why her Mistress had made such a stress inducing request. Slowing, she allowed the sensation of being surrounded by so many asari sink in. She would have been far more happy simply guarding the Saviour, or letting Shepard strike her frustration out of her.

"I'm Illani Martis, daughter of Asheka Martis, descendant of Queen Alune, servant to my Mistress, and survivor of the Dantius sisters."

"You were a slave?"

"Yes. Shepard freed me of it nearly three years ago."

"I see," Samara lifted her head. It certainly lit some pieces of the mystery. "Shepard asked that you be on my defence team."

Illani shook her head, "no. I have my doubts that she even remembers me. The Normandy crew certainly doesn't."

"Than whom is your Mistress?"

"The greatest asari that has ever lived."

Samara glared harder at the mystery, "you have been sworn to secrecy."

"No, but it's not my place to name her, nor have I been told to. All I've been told is to remain at your side."

A chorus of wails drowned any reply the former Justicar might have. They were here. Their burden. Their terrible sisters. To her lament, she finally understood why the banshee sought their kin out.

To put an end to their abject desolation.


	5. Ava Virago

**Summary:** The long road to heroism is fraught with pain and misery. But sometimes, the old heroins are there to guide their youngers to greatness. Or, you know, to kick them into shape.

**Chapter notes:** Joan Shepard is heavily inspired by my own grandmother, Patricia, who is continuing her slowly losing battle with Alzheimer's. Gra'ma, I've never met anyone like you, probably because no one else can ever come close to being as unique as you are.

"How do you make a hormone?  
You kick her in the cunt." ~ Pat Crash

Shepard's Glissando  
Chapter 5: Ava Virago

Jane's mind was reeling, fading in and out, hands on her mouth and nose, the smell of bacteria infested flesh burning her eyes. She struck out at arms as hard as her asphyxiated brain would allow, and kicked at shins with desperation. But as suddenly as the smothering came, it subsided, giving the Young Phoenix some precious gulps of oxygen.

"You'll pay, you filthy human azure."

"Humans," she panted, "don't have azures... you fat... blue... moron!"

The hands were back at her face, and the enormous asari punished Jane's snide by slamming her head into a wall. It'd been going on for minutes now, or maybe hours. It felt like forever. The bitch would snuff her almost out, wait for her to come to; then do the whole thing over again.

"You killed my bondmate! And my daughter!" the asari raged.

More air, and another insult. "Were they worthless pirate shit like you? Did I even look through my crosshairs when I did them in? Or did I even bother to when I sprayed them..."

An animal cry of tormented pain ripped its way out of the Outlaw's mouth, and Jane found herself being hurled to the ground. But god damn, did having her face bashed in feel a whole lot better than being suffocated half to death.

"I'll tare your flesh off! I'll eat your entrails!"

"I knew asari ate some crap," Jane wheezed, "but I didn't think you actually ate shi..."

She was spinning through the air now, legs anchored by a strong grip; then, her face smashed into something hard, a fist impacted her spine soon after, knuckles bashed at the base of her skull next; then a boot crushed her ribs.

"You've taken everything from me!"

A knee impacted her kidney.

"I'll make you hurt as badly as you've made me!"

"Listen to yourself," Jane felt fingers tangle in her hair, "you worthless piece of flotsam," she ignored her forehead cracking against the deck, "you've killed hundreds of wives and daughters," she swallowed the pain of her nose braking against the ground, "and you don't care about them."

The asari turned the Young Phoenix in her grip. "They weren't mine!"

This was new, the bitch throttling her, squeezing her neck with every ounce of strength.

"I'm going to watch the light die from your eyes human!"

"Wont... bring... them... back..." An unimaginably guttural growl and impossibly tight grip bared down on Jane, but she could not, would not stop. "I'll've... always... killed, them..."

"Your suffering will comfort me."

"Not"... "Long"...

The fingers released, but then a palm slammed into her head.

"I'll keep you alive for days you bitch!"

"Not what I meant," she coughed.

"Hey! Blue-Jay!"

Jane smiled as she watched The Iron Bitch show off her well deserved nickname, and laid the asari out with one hard punch to the eye. In the next moment, the Eldest Shepard bear-hugged the pirate around her head, jerking violently from side to side as she dragged her backward. It took a few seconds, but eventually the sounds of muted snapping echoed from the blue body.

"Didn' I tell you to stop fucking around," her Grandmother chided as she dropped the now corpse from her grip, and marched on Jane.

Vision blurred and darkened, the Young Shepard tried to look annoyed, but probably came across drunken. "Hey, I was softening her up for you."

"Sure," the huge amazonian Woman grunted as she hefted Jane up like a torn rag doll. "Her fists were pretty soft kid." She pushed her Granddaughter's hand away from her throat; then wrapped one of her own protectively over it. "Stop pick'n at'it."

"Sir," Jane faux saluted. "But may I suggest you change your skivvies? I think they've gotten crusty."

The Older Shepard chuckled, "Little Bitch," then sobered, "come'on, cough it up. You gotta clear your airway before we get movin'."

She tried to tough out the pinching strain in her throat, and snipped back to deflect. "Aye, aye, Admiral Granny."

"Watch it kid, tha' one'll deserve you a good kick in the cunt."

Her Grandmother gave her some strange massage, and the next minute, she found herself hacking her lungs out. She couldn't stop the tickling gnawing it caused in her wind pipe, and couldn't control the phlegm flying out of her mouth, but within a moment or two, the thick burning that made every breath barely tolerable, turned into a distant, annoying throb.

"Sir?"

"Trade secret kiddo," the Older Woman smiled, and despite the face full of scars, Jane found it made her look charming.

"Can we be done playing with pirates now?"

"Still gotta clear the fuckers out. Unless you're set on being a limp dicked marine tha'is."

"No sir." Jane tried to straighten up in the much bigger Woman's embrace. "The only easy day was yesterday."

Strong arms pulled the Young Soldier harder into a surprisingly gentle embrace, and a mouth better known for chewing out every officer in the galaxy, kissed the top of her head. "You'll get through this kid. One corner adda time. One breath after another."

"Yes sir."

"You listen good Janey. You don' owe no one nothing. You lookin' to fill someone's boots, you get your ass back to The Creche and paint me som'ore pictures. You wanna make your own way, and I'll slaughter anyone who ge's'in'it. Don't let no one tell you otherwise. Not me, not your mother, not fucking Hackett, and certainly not the other stuck up cunt faced Phoenix."

"But I have a job to do?" She hadn't meant it to sound like a question.

"These fuckers needed to be downed, you knew that going in, so you don't puss out now. But if you survive, you don't have'teh do the next one."

"But I don't want to quit sir."

Her Gra'ma slowly released her grip, forcing her to stand on her own. "Tha's your choice Janey." She sighed, scrubbing at her forehead with the back of her hand. "You're good stock kid. The bes'. No one in this shit show's got your cred. But Janey," The Iron Bitch levelled her cold stare down on the Young Woman, "it's your choosin'. Don't do it 'cause the shit Hanna poured in your head. Do it 'cause it's the right thing, 'cause it'll save lives, 'cause no one else can."

Jane stayed quiet, anxiety burning at her chest. But she wasn't exactly sure why, or how to make it stop. She'd been on so many assignments, faced death so many times, and never felt whatever she was feeling eating away at her insides now. But ever since the failed mission, ever since her hospitalization, she couldn't stop the darkness, couldn't stop hoping that the next hit to her shields collapsed them.

Couldn't stop thinking her life was already over.

Movement drew Jane's attention, and her instincts took over. She grabbed her grandmother's AR from its holster, levelled it without thinking, and sprayed down a pirate before he even fully rounded the corner. In the same instant, her Grandmother also swung around and gunned down the next. Then Four more came, and it turned into a turkey shoot, each landing in a pool of his or her own still oozing blood.

Neither Shepard moved from her mark as she collapsed shields, broke armour; then pierced exposed flesh, and when it was over, eleven bodies laid with the asari's. Joan Shepard then walked up to each one of them, reached through their slowly recharging shields, and put an extra round into each of their skulls.

"You okay kid?"

Jane nodded yes, but really, she didn't feel much of anything.

"Get your head out your ass before you kill us both."

"Yes sir."

It was an automatic reply, but Jane did wonder why the hell her Grandmother was riding her so hard, and wondered how the hell she knew to. No one else did. She still got high marks on all her evals, and none of her commanders made a lick of complaint. No one said a god damned word, no one saw her complete impotence. How, the fuck, did the hardest woman in the galaxy.

"We'll talk'about this later." The Elder Shepard grabbed Jane's arm, and pushed her into line. "You're on caboose till you show me you're not brain dead."

"Yes sir."

"And if you keep chirpin' at me like a goddamned grunt, I swear, I'll knock your teeth straight down your throat."

"Yes sir."

The enormous Woman growled like the gorilla she was sometimes called, and bullied her face into Jane's.

"It was reflex." A spark of fear flared in her chest.

"Bullshit. You wanna play this game Janey? I'll pull you'off rotation my goddamn self."

The Young Phoenix swallowed back her anxiety. She knew her Grandmother would never hurt her, but fuck, was it ever intimidating having The Iron Bitch's anger levelled directly at her.

After a few breaths, the seething face turned away, and Jane followed a few steps behind as they turned a corner to creep up on the next. They'd just made so much noise though that she didn't think a living sole in this sector couldn't know of their presents, but her Gra'ma stayed with protocol. Except when the Younger Shepard came up beside her.

When Jane was in arm's reach, the Older Woman grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and pulled her back to her chest. It made the Girl's entire body relax, it made her fatigue bubble to the surface, and it made her want to cry. And again, she wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it was how her whole body hurt, or maybe it was how her Grandmother could be the most supportive and best parent she'd ever known, while being a confusing miserable cunt at the same time. No wonder mom was so fucked up.

The Elder Phoenix held up three fingers, changed to two while double pointing toward the port quarter; then changed to one as she single pointed to the port bow.

Assignment given, Jane switched to her sniper so that she could finish these fuckers off as quickly as possible. She just wanted to be back in her quarters staring out at the stars. She'd had enough combat for the day. She'd thought it'd do her good, to get out in the thick again, to try to shake off the hot honeyed misery sticking to her skin. But it just made her want to give up more, it made her...

The Elder Phoenix sprang around the corner before she could finish her thought, and as before, Jane moved on instinct. She took a half-step out of cover, levelled her aim, and blew the back of her target's head off. Then she switch to her secondary, sighted the scum sucker her Gra'ma wasn't shooting, and sent a bullet straight into his worthless eye.

"Fuck Janey!" The Older Woman broke her out of the zone. "Warn someone before you'go firin' off tha' goddamn thing in such close quarters."

"Can't stand the bang sir, don't pass the buck."

"Janey... that made no motha' fuckin' sense."

"I'm sorry you're old sir."

Jane faux cringed when her Grandmother took a step at her, but the playful spirit slowly died from the Older Shepard's eyes. The Young Phoenix's heart wasn't in the banter, and the longer she watched her Gra'ma reacting to her internal mood, the more vulnerable she felt. The worse she felt.

"I'm sorry punkin'."

No, this wasn't happening.

"You're goin' back to The Creche."

No. Fuck no. No one was going to shelve Jane Shepard, no one was going to pull her off active. But the thought faded as quickly as it'd come, and the last dregs of hope she saw in her Grandmother's eyes, died only a little slower than her own dwindling irate.

"Come'on girl, we gotta get to The 'court."

Her reactions went into complete automatic, she followed orders without question or comment, and tried imagining her life as a civilian. One second, she thought she'd be happy, painting and writing music, the next, she was estimating how many'd die because she wasn't their to save them. She thought about the very minor fame she'd been getting from her already released songs and art; then, the men and women she let die on Fehl Prime. Really, she didn't think anything would ever make her happy again.

They were nearing one of their breach points, and the groups of pirates they had to fight through to get there were thickening. But her Grandmother's anger and crass comments had ended, replaced with hard concerned looks. Fuck, why'd the Againcourt have to join this mission, why'd her Grandmother have to show up whenever Jane was deployed, and why the shit did she have to lock up and fail her unit.

Stepping out from behind the Older Shepard's constant physical shielding, Jane took a better aimed shot at some jerk. But as her own sniper's bark bounced off the walls, she heard another, and felt a sharp stab bite into her ribs. She couldn't breathe, and looked down to see the hole in her armour, up to see the smug smile crack the shooters lips, over to see her Gra'ma assess her injury; then watched as The Iron Bitch ran straight into a shot that impacted square into her shields as she charged at Jane's attacker.

A second later Joan Shepard was at her Granddaughter's side, easing her onto the deck. "Breathe Janey," she ordered then hitting her comm. "Phoenix-charlie-one, Phoenix-sierra-one, Phoenix-sierra-three is Micheal-foxtrot-victor. Repeat, Phoenix-sierra-three is Micheal-foxtrot-victor, scramble my position." She stared harder down at the Girl. "Breathe Janey."

"Phoenix-sierra-one, Phoenix-charlie-one, no go. Medical is hung up at position delta, we've got the whole bloody crew on top of us."

"I don' fuckin' care if your head's ha'f spaced Chakwas! Drop'all previous an' converge! NOW!"

Jane couldn't breathe, her diaphragm knotted into place, the burn clawing at her skin.

"Stop holdin' it in," her Grandmother barked as she shifted into medic mode, laid out her kit beside them, spread out her weapons to get them out of her way, but kept everything withing easy reach. "Breathe girl!" the Older Woman boomed.

Jane shook her head, she couldn't, it was too painful. And, she didn't really want to.

The Elder Shepard didn't bother giving another order, she just ripped the Young Girl's glove off, and sank her teeth into her flesh until the knot snapped in the Girl's chest, sending shards of pain into her arms and teeth. But soon the pain tied her breaths up again, and again, she stilled her lungs.

"Don' stop!" her Grandmother ordered as she squeezed the shallow wound between her fingers.

The pain in her hand stabbed worse than the pain in her lungs, and she couldn't help but groan weakly.

"Tha's it girl," she tightened her grip, forcing Jane to call out louder, "work pas'it."

She was crying now, tears trailing over her temples, tears her Gra'ma gently wiped away. They weren't just from the pain though, they were for her endless strings of failures, for letting everyone down, for being utterly unable to do what she was born to.

For being worthless.

"Tha's it girl," the Older Woman soothed, "you're gonna be alright."

Jane shook her head.

"Shut it, you'll be fine, Doc-Chak'll be here in a minute."

She tried to bat her Grandmother's hands away from removing her armour. "No."

Shock spread over Joan Shepard's face as she sat back. For long unbroken seconds she stared down at Jane, until the most frightening anger the Young Girl'd ever seen replaced it. She grabbed her pistol, fitted it into her Granddaughter's hand; then forced her to hold it against her head.

"You wanna be a coward Janey? You wan' fate teh take you? Fuck that and a ha'f." She pressed the muzzle harder into her Granddaughter's temple. "You wanna die so bad Janey, you do'it your goddamn self."

She didn't try to resist, she just laid passively.

"You think I donno what this'is about? So you couldn' take the shot, I wouldn' 'ave either."

"I killed them."

Her Grandmother squeezed harsher at the bite mark. "You din' kill'em Janey, the Thorn Mercs did!"

"I trashed the mission-"

"Shut it. It wasn' your faul', it was fucking Hanna's, it was Captain fucking Mikhailovich's! No one should've put you in that position, I don't fucking care how good'a sniper you are, you're fifteen fucking years ol'! You should be confine' to ship duty! You shou'be on the fuckin' Creche! You didn' kill'em Janey! You didn't fail'em! I'wasn' your faul' you couldn' kill a goddamn child!"

"I could have made-" Jane screamed as the grip around her hand clamped tighter.

"Wha'd I fucking just tell'you! You miss a' unreference' shot, you hit his kid! No one should've been put'in tha' position! No'one! Your Motha' an' Mikhailovich should'a had'a bettah plan beta! Is their faul' not yours!"

She started shaking at the pain lacing through her hand and chest.

Joan Shepard dropped the Girl's hand and picked up a pair of surgical tweezers. "You either choose to live with'it Janey, and fight for your life." She shoved them into Jane's now free hand. "Or you pull the trigger an' end everythin'."

The vision of her scope appeared vivid before her eyes, the turian merc leader sitting in a hovercade, his daughter on his lap, Jane's mother half a step behind, "it's your shot Jane", "take it, or the team dies". The frantic comms blared clear in her ears, "position alpha's scrubbed", "we're under heavy fire", "they've got hundred and fifty mil", "beta's down", "delta's been wiped out", "we need to pull out". The bodies, her mother made her look at every one of them. The people she recognized, the people she'd eaten with just a few hours before. The smell. The blood she couldn't wash off. The looks from the rest of the crew.

"You have'to choose Janey, you can't keep livin' like this."

She could've made the shot, she'd hit harder marks.

"You might've made it, but you might've missed, either way, tha'd kid's life would'a been ruined."

It'd already been, beta team killed her.

"It don' matter what happen' after, the whole mission should've been scrubbed. We don' murder soft targets Janey. We don' take the easy way an' kill more innocents than we have'to. If we do, there'll be no'one left to protect."

No one left to protect.

"You wan' to kick yourself Janey? Then beat yourself up for not speakin' out louder 'bout not pulling out, and make sure tha' shit neve' happen's again."

The world stilled, the corridor's bulkhead shifted farther away, her Grandmother blurred into the greys.

"Hanna pawned you up, she was tryin' to prove what a super soldier she made you. But you're jus' a kid, your not a killer yet, and you don' have to be. But if you'do, you gotta learn the rules firs'. Being able to hit a target's jus' a trick. Choosin' when and where is the work. You hol' life an' death in your hands Janey, an', you choose wrong, there'll be no'one left to protect."

No one left to protect. If she took the shot, if she killed the kid, she couldn't have protected her, she'd be dead. And hadn't she just accused that damned asari of being a hypocrite, of killing innocent wives and daughters while raging at the loss of her own. How could Jane ever hope to recognize bad guys and deal with them, if she herself was one of them.

"I can't." She pushed the tweezers back into her Grandmother's hand and wrestled the pistol into her control.

It took her Gra'ma a second to recognize that she was trying to cover one of their openings, but when she did, the realization blossomed on her face, turning her scarred hard features back into strange charming ones.

"Tha's m'girl." She gave Jane's temple a harsh kiss; then bent over to pull the shrapnel out of her chest. "You're'a good kid Janey, the best, an' I'm proud of you. No one's ever gone as far as you've, no one's ever been as good."

The Youngest Shepard cringed at the detached sensation of something moving around in her body.

"But you're talented too kid. Not me, not your mother, none of us haves your imagination and smarts girl. You can'be anythin' you wanna."

"Gra'ma?"

"Yeah girl?" The Older Phoenix smiled into her Granddaughter's eyes.

"Can we cut the sap sir?"

Joan Shepard let out a deep and slightly scary laugh. "Little Bitch."

Jane closed her eyes, but just for a second. She felt so tired, so wrung out. She'd been injured before, but never had she felt so damaged. She only needed a second though, just one to shake off her tire.

..."Shepard! Shepard wake up!"

The voice was distant, muffled. But also not her Grandmother's.

..."You need to open your eyes, now!"

"Wasn't sleeping."

"We can't access your implants," the voice was frantic. "Every time we try, they overload and blow up the interface."

Implants? "What?"

"Jane, you need to tell us how to get through the security systems." A new voice, but familiar, and like she should know who it was.

"Lawson." She said the name as soon as it popped into her head. Along with the last fifteen years of her life.

"She's on route, but she's on a fast mover and can't receive comms. We need to get into them now Shepard."

"Don't... know..."...


End file.
